Sharpe's Nightmare
by myownmind
Summary: A very odd story that centers around Captain Richard Sharpe, some of the other members of the 95th Rifles and a strange girl that appears in their midst. All hell breaks lose. Crossover with too many other shows to count.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay. If you're in the mood for a very strange story, this is it. It's a cross over between Sharpe series and several other TV shows. I'm putting it under the Sharpe series of books because the characters from those and my OC are the only real constants._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC. I am not making money off this. I pay homage to Bernard Cornwell for creating Richard Sharpe and the other members of the 95__th__ Rifles. He created them and own them. I just like to borrow them on occasion. I do give them back eventually. ;)_

_The story is probably ten to twelve years old. I'm not sure if anyone is going to be interested in it but I thought I'd try and see what kind of response I get. So, if you like it or want me to continue PLEASE review and let me know!!_

_Thanks for reading._

_Susanne_

_P.S. This is a beta free zone. All mistakes are my own so please point them out but be nice about it. I always try to fix them when they're brought to my attention.  
_

SHARPE'S NIGHTMARE

CHAPTER ONE

The chig was bearing down on him and there was nothing he could do. Frustrated and a little scared, Cooper Hawkes burned his ship into a sharp spiral, the chig fighter close on his tail. Then there was nothing. No chig. No fighter. No space. No war.

Startled, the young invitro jumped as if he'd dreamed he was falling. There was nothing to see. He knew his eyes were open but an impenetrable darkness had enveloped him. The jump seat he'd been flying his ship from was also gone. Reaching out his hands, Cooper couldn't feel anything. It was as if he simply floated on a cushion of air without a breeze.

"What the hell?" Panic was beginning to rise, causing him to mutter to himself.

Dimly the invitro became aware of a sound growing out of the deafening silence. It seemed familiar but it's name stayed just out of reach.

"Hello, is anyone there?" it went against every instinct drilled into Cooper during his military training but could not fight an enemy he could not see or locate.

The noise grew louder. It brushed against distant memories but still no name would come. Then it came to him. Birds. It was birdsong that was filtering toward him in the darkness. It was distorted somehow so it didn't sound exactly as it should.

What happened to his fighter? Where had the chig gone? Was he dead? Is this what it felt like? The questions burned in Cooper's mind.

Time passed. He had no idea how much. The panic mounted but nothing changed. He simply drifted.

OOOOO

Sleep must have overcome Cooper at one point. It was the only explanation he could think of to account for the sudden appearance of light. Cooper was sure he would have noticed it sooner otherwise. The light was the size of a basketball and was still growing. The birds were becoming more distinct. The young invitro could make out five different calls.

"Where am I?" Cooper asked for the hundredth time. He had long ago given up expecting an answer.

"Be patient." The voice had no gender that he could detect. It was barely above a whisper and yet seemed to be everywhere.

"Who are you?" Cooper demanded.

In answer, he started to plummet toward the center of the light. Then he was through the circle and landed, hard, on grass covered earth. Rolling, he came up in a crouch, ready for anything.

What Cooper found was unbelievable, most definitely a hallucination. Maybe his ship had sustained damage in the attack and he'd been injured in the head.

Cooper crouched on a high hill. A large oak tree was to his right. A green valley lay beyond the hill. The light from the sun reflected warmly through the multitude of leaves. Birds chirped and small animals could be heard moving around in the bushes behind him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Cooper nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn't been aware of the other man's presence and nearly slugged him in the face before recognizing the white hair and penetrating blue eyes.

"Colonel McQueen? What are you doing here?" The colonel had been his wing man in the last battle but they'd been separated.

"I would imagine the same thing you are," McQueen answered. He stared at the valley stretching beyond them. "I think the sun is setting. We'd better find shelter for the night."

Grateful beyond imagining that the older invitro was with him, cooper grinned foolishly at him. "Do you know where we are, sir?"

"No. The nearest class 'm' planet to our location was eight years away. It doesn't make any sense."

Walking away from the spectacular view, McQueen headed into the trees. All either of the marines had were their coveralls that they wore under their flight armour. The various pockets were empty. Their hand guns were still strapped to their hips. He was grateful for that. At least they could defend themselves as necessary.

"None of this makes sense, Colonel," Hawkes muttered as he followed the older man's lead. He was being hyper vigilant, trying to watch every direction at one and he knew it. But under the circumstances, it seemed to be a good idea.

They were on the side of a mountain. A few feet into the forest the ground began to rise. The vegetation was thicker and getting worse. It caught at their feet and swiped their legs. Under the canopy of the leaves, the sun's light didn't penetrate well, creating deep shadows, making walking treacherous.

"Where are we going?" Hawkes asked hissing between his teeth when a low lying branch whipped him in the right shin.

"There." The colonel pointed ahead of him. All Cooper could see was darkness. Rubbing at his sore knee, he had to rush to keep up with his commanding officer.

Within a dense area of foliage, the colonel spread the leaves of a huge plan to expose a small cave that was dug out of a hillock. Cautiously, he crouched and made his way into the dark recesses.

OOOOO

One moment she'd been at home, sleeping soundly in her very own bed. The next she opened her eyes to find four hard, scruffy looking faces staring down at her.

Startled, Sandra jumped up and moved away in the same motion. Her back came to rest against something solid. Whether it was inanimate or not was anyone's guess and she truly had no desire to find out.

"Who are you?" she asked her voice sounding stronger than she felt.

"Captain Richard Sharpe, 95th Rifles, lass." The blond man directly in front of her was talking in a heavy British accent. "Who might you be?"

Sandra paused for a moment before answering. Somehow giving her real name didn't seem like a good idea so she improvised. "Sandra Herring."

If he didn't believe her, the man showed no sign of it. "Well, Miss Sandra. What are you doing here?"

"It would help if I knew where 'here' was." Fear was threatening around the edges of her thoughts. Desperately, she pushed it down. She was in trouble, big trouble. But she had no idea what kind.

"You're in Spain, lass."

The earth seemed to shift from under her. Sandra must have gone pale because a look of concern flashed over Captain Sharpe's face.

Sandra looked around for the first time and didn't like what she found. There were soldiers everywhere. Some of them looked worse than the four before her. They were filthy and smelled bad. The land they swarmed over was barren. A few pathetic trees had survived the night's cooking fires. There was very little earth and little grass. Mostly there were just rocks. They were camped in a narrow pass surrounded on both sides by steep hills that joined over a mile ahead of where Sandra sat.

"Where did you think you were, Miss Sandra?" the huge man on Captain Sharpe's left asked. He stood over six feet tall and had curly black hair and a two day's growth of beard on his cheeks and chin. He had an Irish accent that charmed her instantly.

"Somehow, I don't think you'll believe me."

"Well, Miss Sandra. Regardless of where you come from, we're getting ready to move out. When we do, I want you in the rear of the column with the rest of the women," Captain Sharpe ordered. He had no idea how this woman came to be in his ranks, a disturbing situation, but he had a battle to fight and could not be worrying about her.

Following the direction the big Irishman pointed, Sandra saw the women loading their husbands' possessions onto wagons as well as screeching children. Beyond them, also breaking camp were the prostitutes, their pimps and other hangers-on who made their living from the army. A shiver of dread ran up Sandra's spine at the very thought of joining those ranks before she could stop it.

"Are you all right, miss?" one of the other men, about the same height as Sharpe with shoulder length, curly red hair and pale blue eyes asked her. His accent marked him as another Irishman.

"Look, Captain Sharpe. I know I don't belong here and I don't want to be a nuisance. But I'm afraid that if you put me with that lot I'll be on trial for murder by day's end." For the first time Sandra became aware that all four men wore dark green jacks with a lot of buttons on them. Captain Sharpe's appeared to be silver. She could see that one of them was tarnished.

"And why would that be?" There was a small degree of amusement on Sharpe's scarred and weathered face. He really didn't have time for this. He had a battalion to organize and to do that he had to find out what their orders were.

"Because I'll kill any man who touches me." Sandra said the line with as much vehemence as she could muster even though she wasn't sure she could carry out the threat. "I may not be from around here but I know what will happen to me back there when I'm without a husband and money."


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi. I know not many people are reading this story but that's okay. So long as one person enjoys it I'll keep submitting it. _

_This is another of my stories where I got carried away dragging in people from other shows. I've thought about revising it but I enjoyed it too much the first time to drop any of the characters. I'll identify them as they come up. From the first chapter I borrowed Cooper Hawkes and T.C. McQueen from 'Space: Above and Beyond'. Of course I don't own them or the characters from 'the Sharpe series'. I too am a huge fan of Sean Bean so he is the only Sharpe I base my stories on. Unfortunately, being Canadian, I just assumed that he had a British accent. Sorry for my mistake!!_

_Well, I hope you enjoy chapter two!_

_Susanne_

CHAPTER TWO

The oldest of the group, a tall, lanky man with long silver-streaked black hair and dancing grey eyes smiled. The others stood in stunned silence. Angry and frightened at the same time, Sandra forced herself to her feet, grateful that she was wearing her black jeans, comfortable running shoes, a t-shirt and a dark green sweatshirt that reached midway to her knees. Standing as straight as she could, she still fell at least six inches short of the red-haired man but she wouldn't back down.

"You can't stay with us on the front lines." Shocked, Sharpe lost all sense of propriety.

"She can't be left to wander the country side alone either, sir. The frogs'll catch her," the huge Irish man stated.

"Damn it, Harper. I don't have time for this." Sharpe turned red as soon as he realized that he'd sworn in front of a lady. Sandra found his discomfort amusing but was careful to keep it to herself. "Harris, stay with the girl. Keep her out of trouble."

"Yes, sir," the red-head acknowledged.

"You'll be a man short," Sandra stated. She'd caught a glimpse of the rifle slung across the captain's back and was surprised by its age. She could see the ram rod clipped to its underside. It would take a long time to load a weapon like that. They were going to need all the hands they could get.

"Harper's right. I can't leave you here alone," Sharpe stated.

"Show me how to load a rifle." If she was going to be here, she may as well learn the basics.

This odd girl was full of surprises. Her clothes were outlandish. The words printed across the front of her shirt would make a fine target for a front dragoon. Besides, somehow Sharpe didn't doubt her claim about killing a man for touching her. An idea played around the edges of his thoughts.

"Are those," Sharpe pointed at the front of her shirt. "on both sides?"

It took Sandra a moment to figure out what the captain meant. "No, the letters are only on the outside."

To demonstrate, Sandra slipped the sweatshirt off, thoroughly scandalizing the soldiers until they realized she had something on underneath. Turning the shirt inside out, she put it back on. It was cold in Spain!

"Good." The plan forming in his head was idiotic. He should ship the girl to the wagons that would follow the columns. But there was so much fear and strength in her that he couldn't abandon her and live with himself."We have a two hour march, Harper. Teach the young miss how to fire a rifle while we're on the road."

"Captain Sharpe!" Sharpe knew that voice and he hated it. Steeling himself, he turned to face the overweight officer astride an expensive horse.

"Major Simmerson, sir!" Sharpe and his rifles snapped to attention. Harper had conveniently positioned himself to block the officer's view of the lady.

"We will be departing in five minutes. Have your men ready!" Sir Henry Simmerson was a pompous ass who had bought his commissions and fancied himself a real soldier. What he was was a coward and all of Captain Sharpe's riflemen knew it.

"Aye, sir!" Sharpe responded.

"Who's that?" Simmerson was raising his considerable bulk in the saddle in an attempt to see behind the large sergeant. He'd caught a glimpse of the girl's footwear and was curious.

For a heartbeat, Sharpe considered feigning ignorance but he doubted he could pull it off. He turned to motion the girl forward only to find an empty space behind Harper. "Who are you looking for, sir?" he asked in relief.

"Five minutes, Captain!" Simmerson left the riflemen in a huff.

Once she was sure the major was gone, Sandra slipped out from behind a large boulder ten feet away. "Sorry," she muttered, ashamed of her cowardice. "He gave me the creeps."

OOOOO

An hour later, the battalion was on the move. Sandra, passing as a new recruit, was in the midst of the green jacketed riflemen. Luckily, she kept her light brown hair cut short and looked young enough under casual scrutiny to be a teenage but not yet old enough to shave. The captain in his wisdom had given her an unloaded gun to carry, she would have looked out of place without it, as well as a pack and weapons belt. The one thing she was missing was one of the tall black hats the riflemen wore called shackos. Her sweatshirt was the same color as the jackets but the buttons were obviously missing. Captain Sharpe hoped nobody would notice.

The riflemen were only loosely attached to the column. They were left behind after their regiment scrambled back to England in the retreat during the early days of the war. They were sent out front, as skirmishers. Their Baker rifles were slower to load than the muskets the rest of the battalion carried but they had a greater accuracy that compensated.

While they travelled at the front of the column, Harper quietly explained to the woman how to load and fire the rifle. The whole situation struck the tall Irishman as unreal. Most soldiers' wives learned to load rifles and muskets to help their husbands. Very few of them actually fired the weapons. The kickback could be brutal.

"Where are you from?" Pat barely stopped himself from adding 'lass'.

"I'm Canadian." It was as close to the truth as she dared. Saskatchewan probably didn't exist yet, much less Moose Jaw. Unless this was all a vivid dream, and she was going to wake up any moment, somehow she wasn't holding her breath.

"Ah, well, that would explain the accent."

Despite her best efforts, Sandra laughed. The marching was hard going, especially when they were doing the quick march made famous by the riflemen. Five steps walking, five steps running. It ate up the miles and had left Sandra panting for the first kilometre. But she'd slowly adjusted to the pace and was barely breathing hard.

"How did you come to be here?" Patrick asked. The other riflemen, all six of the chosen men, were crowding closer to hear her answers. Except Sharpe, he was in the front.

"I have absolutely no idea. I was asleep at home and then I was here." The column of men had fallen far behind for which Sandra was grateful. The column kicked up a great deal of dust and the water from her canteen tasted less than fresh. It also meant that the Calvary wasn't coming anytime soon if they needed help.

Before any further questions could be asked, Captain Sharpe called a halt under a small stand of trees a short way off main road they'd been following.

"We don't want to get too far ahead," Sharpe said in way of explanation.

The riflemen sank to the ground but still remained vigilant. Gratefully, Sandra unslung her pack and sat down beside it. Her shoulders and the small of her back ached. Her legs felt like jelly.

"Take her through some practice rounds, sergeant," Sharpe ordered indicating Sandra. He still didn't like her being here.

Obediently, Sandra regained her feet and unslung her rifle. Sergeant Harper led her a short distance away. "We'll do it without power. We don't want any shots going off this close to the enemy."

Until this point in her life, Sandra had never handled a rifle, just a small pellet gun one summer at her aunt and uncle's house. She found the experience unsettling but gritted her teeth and practiced what the Irishman told her to do. Taking deep breaths, she tried to relax some of the tension in her body and mind and concentrate on the task at hand. No matter what happened between now and nightfall, she was going to do what needed to be done to survive. And hopefully keep these men alive if she had to.

Against all better judgement, Sandra instinctively trusted the riflemen. The other soldiers were another matter. The captain was less than thrilled about her presence, she didn't blame him, but she also got the impression he was feeling awkward because of her. Apparently, he didn't have much experience at related to women as his equal. Somehow that didn't surprise her. Harper, the Irish sergeant, also was uncomfortable with her being here but she sensed that it had more to do with concern for her safety, a concern she shared. The other men had their own concerns but they treated her with dignity and respect. She promised to herself that she would not be responsible for any of them being wounded or killed.

The smoke from the advancing column could be seen again on the horizon by the time Sergeant Harper was satisfied that she had the drill down.

"Do all Canadians dress as you do?" he asked as he watched her run through it one more time. He found it hard to not call her 'lass'.

"Most," Sandra replied. It was the truth. She simply neglected to mention the time frame.

"I haven't met many women who wore pants, no I haven't," Patrick stated.

"I hate dresses. I have absolutely no use for the contraptions." The day had warmed considerably and now Sandra found that she was sweating under the bulky fleece. Absently she wished she could take it off.

"How is she doing, Harps?" Captain Sharpe had come up behind them.

"Fine, just fine, sir," Harper replied. "She's Canadian." He was quite proud to be able to give his captain this piece of information.

"Humph." Sharpe found the girl very unsettling. She had a self-confidence and strength that he'd encountered in very few. "Is she ready?"

"Ready as I can make her under the circumstances," Harper replied. When the noise and smoke and death of battler were all around her, Sandra's reactions would be completely different.

"We move out in five minutes," Sharpe stated.

OOOOO

Sandra was terrified. They had engaged the enemy, what seemed like an eternity ago, and how she was in a maelstrom of madness. The riflemen were skirmishers. They were the first ones on the field and the last ones off.

Harris was beside Sandra. She had been ordered to be his shadow, and she was frantically loading the Baker rifle as he handed the spent one to her. They were pinned down among some rocks and Harris was picking off French soldiers one by one in an attempt to make a hole for them to go through.

The other soldiers were coming up behind, marching in their two rank columns, pausing to fire volleys as they advanced. Sharpe, Harper and the others were somewhere ahead in the dense smoke that was floating through the battlefield. Cannon balls and grape shot flew overhead to crash among the ranks, bodies tore apart and men screamed.

A part of Sandra's soul wanted to curl up in a hole somewhere until it all went away. The stronger part of her soul accepted the empty rifle Harris thrust into her hands. Mindlessly, she ran through the procedure and waited for the next rifle.

"We have to move forward. They'll pick us off here," Harris called over his shoulder. He pointed at where the rock formation turned away from the fortress they were attacking.

"Just show me where to go," Sandra replied with more bravado than she felt.

"Stay behind me and keep the rifles loaded." Then Harris was running, shots ringing off the stones around him. Sandra took off after him before the red-haired Irishman disappeared in the smoke.

Thirsty beyond all imagining from biting off the saltpetre to load the rifles, Sandra felt like she was scrambling through a nightmare. The smoke was thick. So thick that she resorted to placing a hand on Harris's back to keep from losing him, and it stung her eyes. The sounds of battle were all around them, rifles and muskets barking, cannons rumbling, men screaming and calling out, and a new sound, metal on metal. Sandra concluded that it had to be swords clashing or possibly bayonets. And always Harris would pause, fire the rifle and hand the empty one back to her and accept the loaded one.

"Harris," Sandra shouted as loud as she could and thumped him on the shoulder. "It's clogged!" The ramrod wouldn't go down the barrel.

The rifleman understood even though he couldn't hear the words over the battle. Taking the rifle from the girl, he thrust the loaded one into her hand sand turned away from her. It took a moment but the realization of what he must be doing struck her. There was only one kind of warm liquid on the battlefield to run down the rifle barrel. Shuddering, she took the unclogged rifle and tried not to think as she loaded it. Then they were running again.

The smoke was disappointing. Ten feet ahead, Sandra could just make out the green jackets of the other riflemen. Relief flooded over her even though it meant they were on the front lines. The skirmishers were sprawled along a small ridge that Sandra assumed hid a moat. They were pinned down by the French soldiers still inside the fort. As she and Harris crossed the distance between them, Sandra felt a shot whistle by her head and just barely managed to keep from dropping prone where she was.

Sharpe glanced at them as they joined the others, a bit surprised that the girl hadn't' run to the back lines yet. Then he turned his attention back to the problem at hand.

"How are you, lass?" Harper shouted to her. Sandra was sprawled on the ground beside him, peeking over the ridge edge to the fortress beyond.

In response, Sandra grinned at him, her white teeth luminous in her powder-blackened face. She didn't want her voice to betray her terror. Understanding, Harper laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder and then followed his captain over the ridge, splashed across the shallow water and up the other side. Cramming the terror down, Sandra was up and running after Harris before she had a chance to think about it.

This close to the fortress walls, Sandra realized that it wasn't as formidable as it had first appeared. The fortress was in disrepair, the walls crumbling in various areas. They were headed straight for one such breech. Then the smoke descended again as another volley was fired by the cannons.

Her hand on Harris's back, Sandra ran blindly to keep up. Before she fully realized where they were, she was scrambling up the debris from the breech in the wall. Losing her balance when a stone turned her ankle, Sandra had to let go of Harris and put her hand down to keep from falling and possibly discharging the loaded rifle clutched in her left hand. When she caught her balance and looked up to continue on, Sandra found that she was alone.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi. I'm glad people are interested in this story. Like I've said before I started it many years ago but haven't taken the time to finish it. Hopefully by putting it on here, I'll get the bug again._

_Thank you very, very much to everyone who has taken the time to review. The more people who do, the most often I'll feel the need to update. I'm funny that way. But so long as one person wants me to continue, I will. I hope you enjoy the new chapter!!_

_Susanne_

CHAPTER THREE

Panicking, Sandra froze. A bullet hit the ground to her left, another one was even closer.

"Shit," Sandra swore under her breath. Crouching low, she climbed the rest of the way up the breech, pausing long enough to spot a green jacket in the smoke and headed toward it. Ten feet away, the smoke became ragged as a wind picked up and blew it back toward the buildings inside the fort. Sandra could finally make out what was going on. Her blood ran cold in her veins as she cocked the rifle, took careful aim and pulled the trigger.

The kickback nearly sent her onto her butt but Sandra just managed to keep upright by staggering back two steps. Then she was running forward, the hot rifle barrel clutched in both hands. With every ounce of strength she possessed, Sandra slammed a French soldier across the face with the butt of the rifle, swinging it like a club. He went down to join the French officer she'd shot and Captain Sharpe where he lay, stabbed, bleeding and unconscious.

Falling to her knees, Sandra reloaded the rifle as quickly as she could through a sheen of tears. Her shoulder felt as though it had been turned into hamburger by the backlash of the rifle, bringing the tears to her eyes. She didn't mind, however, they washed away the grit from the smoke and the powder that had burned her cheek when she'd fired.

There were soldiers all around Sandra. Red uniforms, blue uniforms, but no green jackets that she could immediately see. Fighting the panic and fear, Sandra fixed the sword to the end of her rifle, trying desperately to remember everything Sergeant Harper had told her.

Suddenly aware of how exposed they were, Sandra caught hold of the blond captain's uninjured arm and pulled. Only one frog tried to stop her. Luckily, he was far enough away that she was able to drop the captain, plant her feet, aim and pull the trigger. It felt like her shoulder exploded but she was more prepared this time. Instantly, upon seeing the charging French man drop, Sandra dropped to one knee and ignoring the sharp edge of the sword. She reloaded, faster than she had before, her eyes constantly checking her surroundings.

The panic and fear were abating and being replace by a grim determination. Ready, she caught up Sharpe's arm again and heaved. Desperation had given her new strength and she got the captain into a corner, behind the steps to the ramparts and settled in for a long wait.

It appeared that the French were winning. She'd figure out some way to get him back over the ramparts and to the British lines but that was something she'd worry about later. Right now, she used the sword she'd unclipped from the rifle to cut off a piece of her sweat shirt and used it to apply pressure to the Captain's wounded shoulder. Keeping an eye out for enemy soldiers, Sandra superficially evaluated him for any other wounds.

On the back of Sharpe's head, Sandra found a goose egg that was bleeding freely. Another piece of her shirt became a bandage and a longer piece was wrapped around his head to keep it in place. Sharpe groaned. He shifted around a bit and his eyes flickered as if to open. But then he passed out again. Holding him tight, her back against the wall, Sandra propped the loaded rifle on her right hip and watched.

It seemed to take an eternity during which Sandra observed the ebb and flow of the uniforms until she finally saw a green jacket. She debated on whether she should shout at him or leave the captain long enough to get the man's attention. But she quickly discarded the ideas as the number of French soldiers increased for the moment. By the time they were outnumbered again, the rifleman had vanished.

On her left shoulder, Sharpe's head moved and he moaned softly. Weakly, he stirred against her side.

"It's okay, Captain," Sandra murmured to him as she held him a little bit tighter to keep him from exposing their hiding spot. "We're safe for the time being."

Absently, Sandra brushed his blond hair out of his scarred face and settled more comfortably. The honest truth was that the captain didn't smell very good, especially so close. Sandra supposed bathtubs were few and far between when there was a war going on.

Sharpe was handsome. The scar running down his left cheek didn't detract from his looks. It simply gave his face more character. This close to him, Sandra was surprised to find how small he actually was. When erect, Sharpe stood just short of six feet tall, but she doubted he weighted much mover one hundred and seventy pounds. Lanky, maybe that was the word for it, or sinewy. She couldn't quite think of the word she wanted. All she really knew was that he was strong, especially fighting against her one arm despite his weakened stated.

"Ssshhh," Sandra hissed into his ear. "There're frogs everywhere." That settled him for a moment or two.

"Where's Harper?" Sharpe asked in a voice barely above a whisper. His good hand was resting on Sandra's left forearm.

"I don't know. Harris and I were separated. I just happened to find you before you were run completely through," Sandra whispered back. Out in the courtyard, a French soldier saw them huddled in the dark beneath the stairs. Grinning, he headed toward them, his bayonet fixed in place on his musket. Sandra saw him when he was still four yards away. Releasing the captain, she cocked the rifle and aimed it. Realizing his peril, the French soldier tried to swerve to his right only to find a bullet waiting for him there. Screaming, he went down in a heap, his hands wrapped around his stomach to keep the contents in.

Shuddering, Sandra reloaded, considered whether to finish him off but decided against it. She was running low on shot. Keeping one eye on the dying man, she picked Sharpe up again. He'd passed out. The head wound concerned her greatly. Propping him against her side, Sandra looked up and nearly jumped out of her skin before she recognized Harper's happy face attached to the huge shadow blocking the view of the court yard.

"There you are," he said, grinning broadly. "And you've found Captain Sharpe. I thank you for that, I do."

"He's hurt," was all Sandra could think to say. She barely kept the tears out of her eyes and the urge to kiss the sergeant under control.

"So he is." The sergeant squeezed into the small area and picked the blond man up like a bag of potatoes and backed out.

Shakier than she could ever remember being, Sandra crawled out and was grateful to find the other riflemen. Their rifles were loaded and ready, just in case one of the French still wanted to put up a fight. Cautiously, she uncocked her rifle and blinked in the bright sunlight.

"I'm sorry, lass. I lost you," Harris apologized, looking disconsolate.

"My fault," Sandra managed through a suddenly parched throat. "I shouldn't have stumbled."

The older rifleman, Daniel Hagman, Sandra believed his name was, smiled at her and awkwardly clapped her on the shoulder. "Good shot."

"Thanks." Sandra looked around at the carnage filling the court yard and shook a little harder. She could not believe she had taken part in it. "Where's the captain?"

"Harper's taking him to the surgeon," Perkins said. He was the youngest of the riflemen and looked to be maybe sixteen years old.

"Now what?" Sandra asked, trying to hide her trembling. At least it was beginning to subside a little.

"The fort's taken. We clean our weapons and settle in until we get new orders," Harris replied. "Follow us, we'll check on the captain and find our billets."

OOOOO

The route they took brought them by the two French men Sandra had fought. Aghast, she stared unabashedly. Somehow, she'd killed both of them. The one she'd bashed with the rifle butt was lying on a metallic object. Curious, Sandra paused long enough to roll the body over. Underneath, lying amid the blood was a sword.

"That's Captain Sharpe's," Perkins told her. She scooped it up and double timed it to catch up.

OOOOO

The hospital, if it could be called that, was a scene of organized mayhem. French and British soldiers, as well as the occasional Spaniard, were lying, sitting or wandering around. Blood, sawed off body parts and corpses were everywhere. In some ways it was even worse than the horror they'd just left.

Shocked and appalled, Sandra followed the others. The things taking place were too awful to witness so she concentrated on Daniel's back. They crossed nearly the entire clearing being used before they found them.

Captain Sharpe lie on a bloodied table, still apparently unconscious, stripped to the waist. A serious, haggard looking man was shouting something to an orderly. Sandra couldn`t quite make it out. On one side of the table stood Sergeant Harper a sorrowful look on his broad face.

"Sir?" it was Harris. "What's going on?"

"They want to cut his arm off," Harper said.

"What??" Disbelieving, Sandra covered the distance between them in a heartbeat. She quickly checked the captain over. In the fear and darkness of the stairwell, she'd missed a broken arm.

Apparently the frog who'd bayoneted him in the shoulder had hit his right forearm first. The blade had sliced between the radius and ulna and broke the bones when he'd yanked it out. He'd missed the veins and arteries. Otherwise, the captain would have bled out on her under the stairs. The orderly was coming toward them a nasty looking saw in his hand.

"Pick him up and get him out of here," Sandra ordered her voice deep with rage.

One look at the woman's face and the huge Irishman decided not to argue. Shrugging apologetically at the doctor Harper carefully picked his friend up and followed his fellow riflemen out of the hospital.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you very much for the reviews! I really do appreciate them. I'm sorry this has taken so long. I'll try to do better with the next update, honest!_

_Susanne_

CHAPTER FOUR

They were billeted in an inn just on the other side of the fortress wall. The captain had a private room while the others were bunked four to a room. The billeting officer was put out that no one had told him that there were seven chosen men and not six, as his records showed.

Once Sharpe was secreted in his room, Sandra took over, asking for clean water and bandages, needle and threat, two straight sticks and a second bowl with some flour and as many newspapers as they could lay their hands on. The riflemen scattered, some of the items would take some doing to get. Sandra was left alone with the captain. Taking a deep calming breath, she picked up a candle guttering in the corner and sat on the bed near the captain's head.

Gently, Sandra opened first the right eyelid and then the left. Relief flooded through her. His pupils were equal and responsible. Bleeding in the skull would have been just a little out of her league. Satisfied, Sandra placed the candle on the nightstand and tenderly examined the captain's arm.

A gasp startled her. Jumping, Sandra looked up to find the captain staring at her. "Harper and the others have gone to get supplies to fix you up," she reassured him. She didn't want Sharpe to think she'd secreted him away.

"Surgeon?" the word came out choked.

"He wanted to cut your arm off. I wouldn't let him."

"Thank you." Sandra could see the fear flash over his blue eyes.

"Don't thank me yet. We still have to get it to heal properly. Your sword is in the corner." It was a lame thing to say but Sandra didn't want him to worry about it. Her canteen, long forgotten, was on the floor beside the bed. She picked it up, pulled the stopper out and helped the captain take a couple of mouthfuls before she took one herself. The captain must have been in terrible pain and unfortunately, she'd forgotten her Tylenol at home. Despite Sharpe's best efforts, grimaces passed over his face.

"Is the battle won?" he asked, struggling to remain conscious.

"Yes." Sandra didn't want to think about the fight, the men she'd killed. A shiver ran up her spine. Sharpe looked at her questioningly. "I killed four men today.' Tears were threatening to come. She swallowed hard.

The hardened soldier had no idea what to say. He hadn't intended that she should have to fire a rifle, much less kill anyone. The girl was staring at her hands. She had a lop-sided grin on her face, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Are you all right?" It was the only thing he could think to ask.

"I burned my hands," Sandra held them up to show him the red welts running across her fingers. "when I used the rifle as a club."

"Your shoulder?" Sharpe remembered the pain of his first battle.

"Sore." She didn't want to look at it, not yet. Sharpe paled and a thin sheen of sweat broke out on his face. "Are you all right?"

His eyes closed against the pain, the captain shook his head. A moan escaped from his lips. Feeling helpless, Sandra took his left hand and held it in her own. Unaware, Sharpe squeezed it.

"I'm sorry." There wasn't anything else she could say. The spasm of pain washed over his face. Then he relaxed as he slipped into unconsciousness.

The door opened behind Sandra. Wary, she turned to find Sergeant Harper standing in the doorway, bandages and a basin of water in his hands. She could see the fear on the Irishman's broad face. "It's okay, he's unconscious, that's all," she told him finally.

The broad shoulders visibly relaxed and a smile broke out across Harper's face. "Thank the maker for that," he said, moving further into the little room.

"He's not out of the woods yet, Sergeant." Accepting the supplies, Sandra moved the candle further along the night stand and placed the basin on it. One of the bandages was sacrificed and dipped in the water. "Do you have soap around here?" she asked as she wrung the excess water out of the cloth.

"Do you need it?" Sandra could tell that the Irishman was beginning to doubt her sanity.

"Yes, this wound is filthy." Sandra was inspecting the arm. Luckily the gash had stopped bleeding on its own. She was being careful not to start it again, if she could help it.

"I could get maggots," Harper suggested. He nearly laughed at the look of revulsion that she gave him.

"Soap will be fine. Thank you, sir." The bayonet had left a ragged gash but, other than breaking the bones, had missed anything major, veins, arteries and even nerves as far as she could tell. Sandra was barely aware that Harper had left. She was concentrating so hard. The single window allowed the last rays of the sun to illuminate the room. The west facing window would soon be dark and the candles did little to help her see inside the wound.

The captain groaned softly and shifted on the bed. The pain must be incredible but she'd rather deal with it while he was unconscious. The water in the basin was all ready a dark red from the blood she'd cleaned out. Suddenly, she really missed electricity and running water. Sandra paused to run her sleeve over her face. She was sweating like a stuck pig, partly from the shock of battle wearing off and partly from nerves. The idea that she was in way over her head just wouldn't go away.

The door creaked open and Harris and Daniel slipped inside. They laid the things they'd brought on the soul chair in the room.

"Do you need anything else, lass?" Harris could not bring himself to think of the girl as anything else, even though she looked more male than female at the moment.

Finished with the arm, Sandra laid it down gently. She hated the feel of the bones rubbing together. Then she turned to inspect the materials. Her mind raced, trying to consider all the possibilities. "I need lots more water, preferably boiled for fifteen minutes at least once. Do you have any alcohol?"

"We might be able to find some," Harris replied, a wicked grin on his face. It disappeared when Sharpe moaned from behind Sandra.

"I'm sorry, I'm having a little trouble thinking straight," Sandra said, staring down at her burned hands, now covered in the captain's blood. "I need help. Could one of you stay?"

"Certainly, lass," Daniel said, stepping to the bedside. Harris slipped back out the door.

"I need more light while I sew this up." She'd scrounged around the supplies until she'd found the needle and threat. It was long, too long, and thick, much thicker than she would have liked. But it would have to do. Daniel handed her his canteen. Cautiously, she unstoppered it and sniffed at the contents. The scent wasn't something she was familiar with but it definitely wasn't water.

"Whiskey," Daniel explained.

"Thank you." Holding the need over the basin, Sandra poured some of the whiskey over it.

Harper arrived with more water and a lump of something in his hand. Sandra supposed it must be soap. Gratefully, she accepted both and recleaned the arm.

It took longer than she'd expected, working with the archaic tools. The straight sticks gave the splint some support but it didn't entirely satisfy her. There was a nervous few moments when she wasn't sure if the newspaper strips were going to hold and then harden around the broken arm. But eventually it did. She wasn't terribly thrilled with the results but it would do so long as they kept it dry.

The riflemen came and went, fetching supplies as needed but mostly they stood around, holding candles to improve Sandra's lighting and watched what she did with curiosity and trepidation. Her right shoulder throbbed by the time she finished cleaning, sewing and bandaging Sharpe's should. With Harper's help and being mindful of the hardening cast, Sandra got Captain Sharpe rolled onto his good side so she could until the crude bandage and check his head wound.

A thorough inspection convinced Sandra that it wasn't as bad as it might have been. The bones didn't feel as if they grated together when she pressed on the spot. Thankful, she cleaned the wound, put a couple of stitches in it and wrapped it again in a clean, white bandage.

She'd taken every precaution she could think of from her training as a vet assistant but it'd been a long time since she'd practiced and the conditions were less than sterile. She was convinced she'd been bitten by at least one flea. All she could do now was wait. Exhausted, Sandra slumped to the floor and laid her head on the edge of the bed.

"How are you?" Harper asked as he knelt down beside her.

"Tired, hungry and my hands and shoulder hurt. But I'm fine otherwise," Sandra replied, flashing the big man a brilliant smile at the end. Then she rested her head back on the bed again.

Gently, Sergeant Harper took her nearest hand and held it up to the light of Harris's candle. "God save Ireland," he swore seeing the weeping blisters and burnt skin. "How did you do this?"

"I forgot the rifle barrel would be hot when I used it as a club." Sleep was threatening to overtake her, her voice muffled by the bed.

"How many shots did you fire, lass?" Daniel asked.

"Three." She'd had to stop and think for a moment.

"Did they all hit the target?" Daniel was curious. He'd figured she'd shot once, possibly twice simply because of the pain. When they'd finally pried the rifle and the captain's swore from her fingers, he'd been shocked to find that Baker loaded and ready to fire.

"Yes." Sandra had to fight to stay awake. The panic, terror and fear of the day were combining to zap what little strength she had left. Not to mention the unaccustomed exercise, late-night walked with her Mom hadn't prepared her for this! Despite it, she heard the sounds of disbelief go around the room.

"How many did you kill?" Harper was proud. She'd done unbelievably well.

"Again she had to pause to o through her memory. "Four, including the one I clubbed."

"You did well, lass." Harper touched the back of her head.

"Apparently, I'm a fast learner." Sandra slipped into sleep listening to quiet laughter ripple through her fellow riflemen.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Sandra started awake, sweating and gasping for breath, her heart pounding in her ears. It took a full minute before she could figure out where she was. Frantically, she searched her general vicinity with her eyes. Her body hurt too much to move. A soft moan above her and to her left brought a flood of memories.

Gritting her teeth against protesting muscles, Sandra forced her body up off the floor. She found herself wrapped in blankets. She moved toward the side of the bed.

When Sandra finally made it, she was surprised and pleased to find the blond haired Captain looking at her with some curiosity and a lot of pain in his pale blue eyes.

"Good morning." Sandra managed a weak smile over clenched teeth. Her shoulder had started its throbbing now that the wound had been reawakened. "How do you feel?"

"Thirsty." The captain was in obvious discomfort. It killed her that she couldn't do anything to ease the pain. Perhaps the doctors would have something they could give her. In the meantime, Sandra hunted around on the floor until she came up with her canteen. Gently, she braced the captain's head with her left hand, being careful of the goose egg, and helped him drink several mouthfuls. "Thank you," he whispered.

"I need you to do something for me. As carefully as you can, move the fingers of your right hand." She wanted to see if she'd cast it properly.

Slowly, the thumb twitched then the fingers followed suit. Barely containing a whoop of joy, Sandra smiled at him. Hesitantly, Richard Sharpe smiled back. "It may take a while, but if you're careful, that arm will heal completely and be straight," Sandra assured him.

Sharpe's left hand, calloused and strong reached out and tenderly touched Sandra's right cheek. She'd forgotten about the powder burns. They hurt less than her hands and shoulder. Self conscious of the burns and the powder that was probably still there, Sandra had forgotten all about it last night, she ducked her head.

Sergeant Harper came into the room. He had a plate of twice baked bread, cheese and some apples he'd managed to buy. He'd been awake for hours and had begun to worry that Sharpe and Sandra had not stirred.

"Good morning to you both," Harper said as he laid the plate down. Harris and Hagman had cleared away the basins of dirty water and the other bits and pieces left over from Sandra's ministrations the previous night. But not before the red haired Irishman had carefully washed the powder off her face and neck, cleaned the burns on her hands, just as she'd cleaned Captain Sharpe's wounds, and wrapped them with bandages. "I was beginning to worry about you two, I was."

"Good morning, sergeant," Sandra mumbled. Rediscovering her canteen, she swallowed a couple of mouthfuls, despite the awful taste. It was then that she noticed the bandages. "Who did this?"

"Harris, lass. He watched everything you did last night just in case he needed to do it himself. It was a good thing too, it was."

"Thank him for me." Sandra swiped at her face and was surprised to still have white bandages when she pulled them back and looked at them.

"You looked a fright, you did. Harris couldn't let you sleep with all that powder. By the way," Harper was happily prattling along as he cut the cheese and broke the bread into two. "We've scrounged up a rifleman's jacket for you to wear. That thing you're wearing isn't going to fool anyone on close inspection. Daniel is sewing the chosen man patch on it right now. It may be a little bit but it'll do, yes it will."

Pat paused and turned to his commanding officer, who'd been silently watching him. "I hope you don't mind, sir."

"No." As much as Sharpe hated to admit it, he knew that the woman had saved his life and his arm yesterday. He couldn't send her into the back of the column, especially now he knew she really could kill a man. That was, if she was willing to go on the front lines again. "What are our orders?"

In Sharpe's absence, the sergeant would go to the next officer in line, Major Simmerson, and ask for their orders.

"We're to stay here until you're healed or at least ready to travel. Then we're to catch up with the rest of the column."

"We'll leave tomorrow." Captain Sharpe tried to assume a seated position only to find he didn't have the strength.

"Sorry to countermand you, sir, but I think Sandra here will determine when we leave." Harper smiled at her as he handed the woman her breakfast. Then Pat propped the blond haired captain up in his bed enough for him to eat his own breakfast.

"You are going to stay with us, aren't you?"

"As long as I can," Sandra replied around a mouthful of cheese.

"Good, that's settled. I've sent the boys out to round up some more bandages and soap. Your rifles and your sword, Captain Sharpe, are clean and ready. The only responsibility either of you have is to sleep." And he was gone out the door.

Her stomach full for the first time in two days, Sandra only wanted to follow the sergeant's instructions but her keen sense of responsibility wouldn't allow her to. The food that she couldn't eat was put on the plate. She forcer her aching muscles up until she was standing and moved to the other side of the bed so she could check the captain's shoulder and arm.

"What is this?" Richard asked, indicating the paper Mache cast.

"It's not very strong and will fall apart if it gets wet but it should keep the bones straight until the bones start to knit together. I learned how to make it when I was a child, my mother taught me." The memory of Sandra's mother brought tears to her eyes unbidden. Ducking her head, Sandra rubbed at her eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to stop the flow. "I'm sorry."

Standing, Sandra moved over to the window to stare at the village outside, the tears running freely down her face. In the fury of staying alive and then treating Captain Sharpe's wounds, she'd been able to keep thoughts of her family at bay. Now, they flooded her mind and she wept tears of grief. She wondered what they'd thought when she disappeared from her bed.

Minutes passed until Sandra took control again and dried her tears. She missed them and loved them but wallowing in self pity and grief wasn't doing her or them any good. Straightening her shoulders, Sandra wiped at her eyes once more and then turned back to the captain.

"Momentary weakness," Sandra said in way of explanation. "It won't happen again."

"Did you have a happy childhood?" Richard asked. He knew nothing about this woman.

"Mostly." Sandra really didn't want to go into this with her superior officer. If she was going to be a rifleman, she was going to have to start thinking like one. "What of yours, sir?"

"No," was all Richard said.

"I think Sergeant Harper is right, we'd better get some sleep." Crossing the room, skirting the bed, Sandra settled herself among her blankets and tried to get comfortable. She found it hard to find a position that didn't leave her shoulder throbbing. The floor was hard and a strong draft swept between the door and the window. Reverently she wished for her own, warm bed.

Above her, Sandra heard Captain Sharpe moving around followed by a soft curse. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Silence was the only answer for a few seconds. "No," Sharpe finally admitted.

Getting off the floor was easier the second time around. When Sandra cleared the edge of the bed, she found the captain lying at an awkward angle. Harper had left him propped up and she'd forgotten to help him to lie down.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't think." As gently as she could, Sandra straightened Richard's body out and then removed the pillows that had held him up.

Now that Richard was awake, Sandra felt awkward around him. All she could think of were his blue eyes and handsome face. If she were a looser woman, she would have thrown herself forcibly at the man and ravaged him.

"How's your shoulder?" Sharpe asked once the spasms of pain had subsided a bit.

"Better," Sandra lied.

"Have you looked at it yet?"

Sandra wasn't sure where this line of questioning was leading but she didn't think she was going to like it. Thoughts of Major Simmerson came to mind. "No."

"May I?" Sandra didn't want him to touch her again. She was afraid she'd lose all self control but she nodded stiffly.

Tenderly, the captain's good hand pulled the fleece away from Sandra's shoulder. It didn't have to go far before he found discoloured skin. The bruise was impressive. He drew the fleece shirt back to where it had been, guilt eating at him. Carefully, he shifted himself to one side of the bed. "It will stiffen up more on the floor," Sharpe said.

Fear and mistrust flashed over Sandra's face and thoughts. She tried to stop it. She had no reason to mistrust the captain but old habits die hard. She stood immobile, fighting her inner demons. The captain had no idea what had happened to her to create the fear. But he desperately wanted to kill whoever had done it. Her answer to his question about her childhood came to mind and he knew.

"I won't hurt you. I just don't want you to sleep on the floor." His own pain seemed to disappear.

"Sorry, sir." Fear, in some ways worse than the terror of the battle field, gnawed at Sandra, making her want to run. She knew the demons, she'd face them before. Steeling herself, refusing to give in to the past, she cautiously laid on the bed, her back to the captain. The fear and memories threatened to overwhelm her, to take over and leave her reacting on instinct alone.

Startled, Sandra jumped when she felt the captain's cast hand touch her lightly on the back. Angry with herself, she rolled onto her left shoulder to face the captain. "Sorry, sir."

Sandra knew she was repeating herself but it was the only thing she could think to say. "Trust isn't generally a strong suit with me."

Richard wanted to hold her, to protect her but she was so tense, he was afraid she'd run. "You can trust me."

"I know. There are just certain situations that make me nervous. And certain people like Major Simmerson. Luckily, on the battlefield this shouldn't be a problem," Sandra joked. She felt stupid. The captain was as weak as a newborn kitten. She had no reason to fear him. Even when he had been healthy, he'd done nothing to deserve her mistrust. Deliberately, she forced her body to relax.

"No one will touch you again." The significance of what she'd said yesterday had come to light. "Your fellow chosen men will make sure of that."

"Thank you."

The door creaked open and Harper came in. Sandra nearly jumped off the bed but Captain Sharpe caught hold of her nearest bandaged hand to keep her there. If he found anything unusual about the girl laying on the bed, the huge sergeant didn't show it. He simply picked up the blankets on the floor, sorted through them and laid them over Sandra. She'd been lying on top of the blankets on the bed, Captain Sharpe was underneath them.

"The rest of the column has moved out, sir. Your chosen men are drilling in the common area in front of the inn. I'll be back with some supper for both of you."

"Thank you, sergeant," Richard said. He was grateful that the tension in the room was evaporating. All ready Sandra's eye lids were getting heavy. He closed his eyes, tried to ignore his own pain and gradually fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you very much to those of you who have stuck with me on this one. Christmas really cut into my writing time!!! I'm back and hope to update my stories with more regularity. _

_Thank you especially to those of you who have taken the time to review my story. I appreciate you doing that more than I can say!!_

_Enjoy the next chapter._

_Susanne_

CHAPTER SIX

The next two days were spent pretty much the same way. Harris would come in the afternoons to clean the wounds and change the bandages, including Sandra's, much to her chagrin. Harper would bring them their meals and empty the chamber pot as necessary, again to Sandra's chagrin. The captain seemed to alternate between sleeping and being unconscious. The periods of unconsciousness lessened as time passed but he was still in a great deal of pain. For her part, Sandra spent most of the time asleep. She was more tired than she could ever remember being.

OOOOO

The morning of the third day, Sandra woke up early. A sense of urgency filler her, dragging her out of the bed and across to the windows. Fog was creeping up the valley. She could barely make out the far wall of the fort. Dread filled her when she looked at it.

The door opened and Harper came in, his usual plate of food balanced carefully. "Good morning, lass. How do you feel today?" he asked as he set the plate down. The huge Irishman had green cloth draped over his left arm, reminding Sandra of a maitre de from a bad movie.

"I feel much better," Sandra replied. "What are you carrying?"

"This?" Oh, I found it lying around, so I did." Patrick held it up so she could see it better. It was a green rifleman's jacket. A band of brown cloth was sewn to one sleeve as the others wore. It had been washed and mended.

Sandra shrugged out of her ragged sweatshirt and accepted the jacket. In her entire life she'd never been chosen to belong to something, not on her own merits. Reverently, she slipped her arms through the sleeves and settled it on her shoulders. The buttons were harder to do up than she'd anticipated. When she'd done them all the way up, she turned to her sergeant.

"You look grand, Miss Sandra. What do you think, sir?" Harper's pride beamed from his broad face. Unsure, Sandra did an about face and looked down at the captain.

"It's a bit big," Captain Sharpe observed.

"We thought it would help hide certain attributes," Patrick Harper stated. Sandra made quite a striking figure in the forest green jacket and her black jeans. The shoes, however, even from their place beside the bed stood out. Overall, her femaleness was pretty well hidden.

"There are ways around those," Sandra said. She'd been planning to tie her breasts down all along but didn't want to do it until necessary. "How do you feel, Captain?"

"Better." To prove the point, the blond captain got himself into a seated position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His first attempt to stand was unsuccessful but his second had him standing beside the bed. The cast was big and bulky. Sandra had sewn the wounds shut, aligned the bones and used the four sticks Perkins had brought her to splint them. Bandages had been wrapped around the sticks to secure them and then she'd applied layer after layer of paper Mache.

"This might help." Sandra had saved a broad strip of cloth and used it as a sling. Gently, she wrapped it around the cast and tied the loose ends behind Sharpe's back.

"Thank you." It felt good to be upright. Richard had forgotten how wonderful it was to stand on his own two feet. With some help from Patrick, he got his boots on and headed for the door, breakfast forgotten. The weakness was still there, dogging his every step, but he refused to stop until he'd left the musty inn behind to stand out in the courtyard.

"Good morning, sir." Harris had been over by the well, drawing water. He was thrilled by the sight of his commanding officer up and about.

"Morning, Harris."

"Is Rifleman Herring up yet?" Harris asked. Surprised, Harper looked behind him. He'd assumed that the girl had been following them. All he found was the inn door, closed.

"Go check on..." Captain Sharpe didn't get a chance to finish the order before the door swung open and Sandra appeared, her rifle slung over her shoulder. She'd stayed behind long enough to remove her jacket, tie her breasts down with a broad piece of her sweat shirt, and get dressed again. Luckily, she was never well endowed. It felt uncomfortable but she didn't want to take the chance of being discovered outside the bedroom.

"Sorry, sir," Sandra said. The rifle had been a reflex. She hadn't wanted to go anywhere the French might be without it. From the pride in the tall Irishman's eyes, she knew she'd done the right thing.

The inn keeper came out. He glanced at the Riflemen, particularly Sandra and the bandages on her hands. The thoughts flashing through the man's mind were obvious until that point, then understanding registered in his dark eyes. He motioned Harper to him and moved out of earshot of the others. Sensing something amiss, Perkins, Hagman, Harris and the others that Sandra didn't know, came to stand with their captain.

As hard as Sharpe tried not to show weakness, his men knew that simply standing in the courtyard was wearing him out. Looking grim, Harper thanked the inn keeper, pressed some coins in the man's hand and turned to his fellow Riflemen.

"Well, Patrick, what did he say?" Pain and exhaustion made Sharpe's temper short.

"We have to leave. The French are coming back to take the fort again. The garrison Wellington left is evacuating all the wounded." Harper saw the anger flash in his officer's eyes but he chose to ignore it. "The inn keeper has a horse waiting in the stables for you."

"I hate horses," Sharpe growled.

"You can't walk, sir, and we need to make time and catch up to the column," Harper said.

"I hate running." Richard was being belligerent but he couldn't stop himself. The thought of riding a horse for hours on end was not a pleasant one. All ready his shoulder and arm ached.

"I know, sir. We have no choice."

OOOOO

An hour later, their packs were loaded with as much food as the inn keeper could spare. Extra rounds and the captain's pack were strapped to the back of a roan horse. The horse was a mare and had the dubious name of Red. Each Rifleman carried in their gun pouches sixty rounds in case they were somehow separated from the captain.

"Are you sure about this, la-ad?" Harper barely got the last word out properly.

"I have to carry as much as the rest of you or it'll look funny. I'll do it as long as I can," Sandra replied. Harris had secured a French pack for her, they were better than the British equivalent. It was more comfortable than the one she'd had before. But she could feel it rubbing against her sore shoulder all ready.

"Well, sir, that leaves you, so it does." Captain Sharpe was just inside the courtyard, a look of disgust on his scared face. Grudgingly, he allowed Harper to help him into the saddle. It felt strange. He seldom rode horses and never when his men were on a march.

The Riflemen formed ranks behind the horse, Harper telling Sandra where to stand, and set out in quick march.

OOOOO

The first hour was pure torture for Sandra. Between trying to keep up with the in-shape Riflemen and trying to stop the strap from rubbing, she was miserable. But, her stubborn streak reared its ugly head and she refused to give in or complain. She wore a Rifleman's jacket. She intended to wear it with pride.

On the horse, Captain Richard Sharpe wasn't having much more luck. Each stride of the horse sent a shiver of pain through his right arm and shoulder. After nearly four days in bed, he found it hard to remain upright, especially if the horse stumbled and the pain rose to new heights. Pride, however, kept him upright and mute.

Sergeant Harper barked out the order to stop. It was noon and his men needed to eat. He didn't want the captain or Sandra to think the stop was in consideration of their pain, even if it was.

"We rest for ten minutes, lads. Then we're off again," Harper informed them.

Gratefully, the Riflemen moved off the road to a small stand of trees and settled themselves on the ground. Harper led the horse over to the trees and helped his captain down.

The pack on the ground beside her, Sandra took in the country she'd travelled through. It was beautiful, exotic in comparison to the Prairies she was accustomed to. The trees were different. She had no idea what kind they were. To the south, the direction they'd come from, the fog was impenetrable and seemed to be moving toward them. The feeling of dread returned. Absently, as she stared into the swirling whiteness, Sandra tugged the bandages off her hands and used them to pad her shoulder. The burns were healing even though the blisters still wept. Her right hand strayed to the barrel of her rifle lying on the ground beside her. Reassured, she took a mouthful of tepid water from the canteen and glanced at her fellow Riflemen before her attention was drawn back to the fog.

His face drawn and pale, Captain Sharpe sat with his back propped against a narrow tree trunk. He hadn't complained once since leaving the village but the pain had been nearly overwhelming at times. Sandra had insisted on bracing the cast arm against his body by wrapping cloth around it and the trunk of his body. It had been the one saving grace. Each jolt had sent pain slicing through his arm up to his shoulder. Luckily, the jolts were few and far between.

"How are you, sir?" Harris asked. He knelt down in front of his commanding officer and gently removed the shoulder of his jacket. The bandages hadn't been changed yet.

"Fine." It was the only think Sharpe could think to say. He leaned forward and let the Rifleman untie the cloth holding his arm in place. Pain burned up his arm into his shoulder as the pressure was released. Despite his best efforts, Richard hissed against it.

"Sorry, sir." Intent on what he was doing, Harris barely paused long enough to recognize his captain's discomfiture. From a canteen he'd taken from the horse's saddle, Harris poured water that had been boiled three times, as per Sandra's instructions, onto a clean cloth and wiped at the wound. It had stopped weeping and the suture line looked surprisingly healthy. He cleaned it simply because Sandra had impressed on him and the others how important it was that it was kept that way. He wondered how the arm was doing but Sandra didn't appear to be worried so he tried not to. Finished, he dried the wound, bandaged it and wrapped the arm with the cloth, just as Sandra had had it.

"Thank you, Harris," Richard breathed.

"You're welcome, sir."

"Have you checked on Sandra?" Sharpe kept his voice low, just in case anyone was nearby.

"She's fine, sir." He hadn't actually seen the girl's wounds today but she had assured him that they were fine. The ten minutes were up. Offering him a hand, Harris pulled the blond captain to his feet and followed him to his horse.

Sandra was on her feet, pulling the pack on her back. Her face showed nothing as the strap slipped over her shoulder. Suddenly, she felt eyes watching her. Turning, she found Captain Sharpe and Harris looking at her, their faces expectant. Dutifully, she crossed the distance between them. She passed Harper, who was ordering the three Riflemen she didn't know, to be pickets.

"Is there something I can do for you, sir?" Sandra deliberately talked in a voice lower than her usual one. For a split second, Sharpe was convinced that she was a soldier, all be it a young one. Shaking his head, he looked down at her from the saddle, swaying slightly.

"Nothing, lad. I was wondering how you are."

The concern was evident in the clear blue eyes. "I'm fine, sir," Sandra replied. "A little out of shape but I'll life." The longer they were on the move, the better she felt.

"Are you sure?" Harris asked. He'd moved closer to her, nearly dwarfing her with his height. But she didn't back down.

"Positive," Sandra said. She shouldered her rifle, nodded to her commanding officer and resumed her place in the ranks. The last thing she wanted was them worrying about her. If she was going to be part of this unit, they were going to have to trust her.

The order was given and they were off.


	7. Chapter 7

_Hello! Thanks for sticking with me. After this chapter, things go very strange. I just thought I'd warn you. As far as bringing other characters from the Sharpe books into this, I wrote this story a lot of years ago. I don't think I'm going to be changing much except possibly grammar and punctuation as necessary. I'm sorry. Maybe in my next Sharpe effort._

_I hope you enjoy the new chapter!_

_Susanne_

CHAPTER SEVEN

Time passed. When things got rough, Sandra concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping her ears and eyes open. They had stopped three times. Each break was longer than the last because Captain Sharpe was becoming weak. He refused to admit it but the pallor of his skin and the pain in his eyes spoke volumes.

"Battalion, stop!" As one, with the possible exception of Sandra, who had trouble marching on the right foot, the riflemen stopped.

"Set up camp," Sergeant Harper ordered. There was still two hours of light left in the day but he didn't want to push it. The fog was coming up behind them, blocking out the declining sun. The sergeant had no intentions of being caught out in the open.

The riflemen moved over to a series of large boulders and began to unslung the packs. Harris, Perkins and Hagman got the captain off his horse. Perkins took care of the horse while Harris and Hagman went about setting up a tent that the animal had carried.

Feeling a little lost, Sandra asked the sergeant if there was anything she could do. "No, lad. Unless you want to hunt up some food?"

She felt stupid but she had to ask. "What kind of food?"

"Rabbits," Harper suggested. He barely managed to keep a straight face.

"Well, I've never tried before," she said, then smiled. "But there's a first time for everything."

Without a clue, Sandra headed off in the direction of some shrubs. Sandra moved cautiously and nearly jumped out of her skin when Daniel laid his hand on her right shoulder. "Follow me," he said.

Over the next hour, Sandra learned a great deal about the art of hunting. By skill or accident, she even managed to shoot and kill a fair sized rabbit. Hagman, however, had four to her one. She found that he liked the tall, terse man. He explained things patiently and didn't laugh the first two times she'd missed. He taught her how to move quietly through the woods, how to read signs and what to listen for. She doubted that she would be able to remember everything he told her. But she hoped she'd remember enough. Under Daniel's guidance, she even managed to sneak up on the man piquetted to the south. He'd glared at her and swore until the older rifleman came out of the bushes to join her.

Triumphant, Sandra and Daniel went back to camp. Her shoulder hurt from firing her rifle again but she didn't mind. The pain was actually less than it had been. Next came something she was accustomed to. In a matter of minutes she had her rabbit skinned and gutted.

"Here you go, Sergeant Harper." A broad grin on her face, Sandra handed the big Irishman the rabbit stuck on a thick stick.

"Did you kill it yourself, lad?" Harper asked, more astonished than he could say.

"Well, actually, Daniel gave me several pointers," Sandra admitted.

"You did well, lad." Beaming with pride, Harper accepted the stick, clapped the girl on the shoulder and went to brag to the captain. The girl had the makings of a great marksman.

Sharpe was lying inside the tent. Harper had brought one tent expressly for this purpose, despite the captain's objections. He was glad he had. The blond man was exhausted beyond imagining. Tentatively, Harper pulled the flap back and looked inside.

"What is it, Harper?" Sharpe's voice was quiet.

"I'll start your supper, sir." Harper regretted instantly waking the captain.

"Did Daniel have any luck?"

"Yes sir. So did Sandra, so she did." Harper couldn't keep the pride out of his voice.

"Good for her." Sleep was stealing over Richard again. Harper let the flap drop and turned to kneel in front of the fire to cook the rabbit.

OOOOO

It seemed to take forever but eventually the rabbits were cooked. Sandra accepted her hunk of steaming meat and looked at it sceptically.

"Something wrong with it?" Perkins asked.

"No, it's just been a while since I've eaten meat." Sandra smiled at the shocked faces around the fire. Prepared, she took a tentative bite. It was a little gamey but she was so hungry she didn't care. "It's good."

The riflemen laughed.

"Perkins, Harris, you're on watch," Harper stated. He'd cooked the rabbit, forced Captain Sharpe to eat some of it, some bread from the village and as much wine as he could stomach. What was left had become the Irishman's supper. The riflemen's fire was within ten yards of the tent. Perkins and Harris had relieved the other riflemen, who were straggling into camp, to sit near the fire. The temperature was dropping now that the sun had gone down.

"I want you," Harper pointed at Sandra. "On the ground inside the tent. I'll give you some extra blankets."

Sandra bristled. She didn't want to be treated differently. Swallowing her pride, she stood up, said good night to the others and headed for the tent. Just as she passed Patrick, he caught hold of her arm. "I'm worried about the captain. I need you to keep an eye on him," he said quietly.

"I will," Sandra reassured him.

The tent was dark. The only light came from the fire, creating shadows that leapt and danced. As quietly as Daniel had taught her, she slipped into the opening, her pack and rifle came with her. Richard was asleep on a cot, two blankets and his great coat wrapped around him. Small puffs of frost came from his nose and mouth with each breath. Harper stuck his head in the tent and tossed her three blankets.

"Is it always this cold?" Sandra asked, her teeth chattering.

"It's winter, lass. Of course it's cold," was the response.

"Oh." Sandra pulled her sweatshirt out of her pack and slipped it on over the jacket. Somehow, layers seemed like a good idea. One blanket was folded in half and laid on the ground beside the cot. The other two were wrapped around her body. She made sure that she could reach her rifle within seconds, just in case. She was becoming obsessive about the weapon.

Daniel had shown Sandra how to take the Baker rifle apart and how to clean it. The old rifleman had even taught her some short cuts to use in battle in case it jammed or clogged as it had at the fort. It now lay on the ground just outside her blankets. The ammunition belt was there as well.

Once, when Sandra had gone camping with her parents, she'd slept on the floor of the van between the two sets of captain's chairs. It had been cold. They hadn't believed her until her father had found that the vents had been left open creating a breeze. This felt a lot like that, but colder still.

In the silence, Sandra could hear Captain Sharpe breathing and the blankets moving as he shivered. Dimly, she could barely make out a faint clicking sound. His teeth were chattering too.

"This is stupid," Sandra growled to herself. Disgusted, she struggled out of the blankets. She found a place to prop her gun and belt, picked up her blankets and spread them over the cot. It took a bit of doing but she got the sleeping captain propped onto his good side, lifted the blankets and slid underneath. She wrapped her arms around him and tried not to shiver too hard.

Gradually, the clicking sound stopped and they both had ceased shivering. It felt odd. She had her head resting on Sharpe's good shoulder, her arms wrapped around him and her one leg thrown over his in an effort to keep them both from falling off the narrow cot. They were both fully dressed and that was a comfort for her. The tension in her muscles slowly let up and she fell asleep.

It was a restless night. Every time Sharpe would move, Sandra would jump awake. Then she'd wait until he settled before she fell asleep again. Occasionally, he'd murmur or cough or moan. She was accustomed to sleeping with her two cats. Sometimes she'd wake up, sometimes she wouldn't.

OOOOO

There was an unearthly glow outside the tent when Sandra awoke shortly after dawn. Her breath made clouds in the air as she close to remain under the covers, to keep warm. Captain Sharpe shifted against her and moaned softly.

The rest of the world seemed to be wrapped in cotton batting. Not a single sound reached Sandra from outside the tent. The thought that the others had been captured played briefly in her mind. Then Sergeant Harper stuck his head in through the flap. He didn't appear to be at all surprised to find the two of them in the cot.

"Time to get up, lass." In his nervousness, Harper had slipped. "Strange things are happening."

Slowly, so as not to disturb the captain, Sandra drew her left arm out from under the blond head. It was cold on the other side of the blankets but Sandra pulled the sweat shirt off over her head, threw it on top of her pack and picked up her rifle and gun belt before leaving the tent.

The fog had caught up to them in the night. Sandra could barely see a food in front of her face. The riflemen were gathered around the fire simply because it was too easy to get lost in the white wall that surrounded them.

"We're going to have to stay here until it lifts," Harper was saying. "We can't take the chance of getting lost and running into the French."

"Should we set piquettes, sir?" Harris asked.

"No. We all ready lost Taylor, Caulfield and Bean. I'm not losing anyone else. Just keep your ears open," Harper responded.

The air was damp and cold. Sandra could feel it through her jacket and jeans. If the captain's cast was exposed to this it would crumble. The sticks and bandages would keep the bones immobile and aligned but she'd rather keep the cast if at all possible.

Perkins, Hagman and Harris were huddled around the fire, blankets drawn over their shoulders and their rifles within easy reach. The red haired Irishman was munching on a piece of bread. There would be no hunting today.

"How's the captain?" Harper asked. He'd come to stand beside Sandra. The fog had his nerves on edge.

"He was sleeping, sir," Sandra responded.

"Stay with him," Harper ordered.

"Yes, sir." Sandra turned to the tent, lifted the flap and stepped inside. From the door way she could hear Sharpe's teeth chattering again. She climbed under the blankets and carefully slid her arms around him. The captain's shoulders were broader than her own so she was forced to wrap her arms around his lower trunk. Below the shoulders, he was actually a small man, with narrow hips and thin but muscular legs.

When Sandra had first appeared here, she'd been overweight. But all ready she could feel that her clothes were looser. The marching and food were making her lose weight, which she really didn't mind. Her stomach had stopped growling some time yesterday.

Gradually, the captain stopped shivering and his muscles relaxed.

"What's happening?" Richard's voice drifted back to her.

"We're socked in, sir. The fog is too thick for us to go anywhere. We've lost Bean, Caulfield and Taylor," Sandra reported, her cheek resting against his back.

"How?" Sharpe found it odd to be in a bed with a woman and not be making love. It was an oddly freeing experience.

"I'm not sure, sir. I think they just got lost. How do you feel?" Sandra imagined the captain was tired of the question but she had to ask.

"I ache," was the only answer. Sharpe moved closer to Sandra. Her body head felt wonderful on his aching muscles and bones.

Sandra felt Sharpe's left hand catch hold of her right arm and pull it tighter across him. Old panic surfaced. Memories flashed through her mind, filling Sandra with a sudden need to be as far from this man as she could get. She chose to ignore the instinct and forced her muscles to relieve their tension.

"Are you hungry or thirsty?" Sandra asked to distract herself.

"No," was the quiet reply.

"Try to sleep, sir. I have the feeling it's going to be a trying day."


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello! No, I haven't forgotten about this story. Like I said on the last chapter, this is where it gets kind of weird. Let me know if you want me to keep going. It gets weirder as we go along. I just can't resist pilling as many characters I like into a story and seeing what happens._

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from 'The Magnificent Seven'. I just had to borrow them for this story._

C HAPTER EIGHT

Time passed imperceptibly. The fog made it impossible to see the change in the sun's position. The temperature rose fractionally as the day wore on but not enough to be felt. The only time either of them left the marginal warmth of the cot was to answer the call of nature, a tricky business. The fog had stayed as thick as when Sandra'd first climbed out of bed, which necessitated that they stay close to the tent or the fire.

The riflemen had rags wrapped around the pans of their rifles to keep the powder dry but otherwise relaxed around the fire. A large pile of wood had been collected carefully and so would replenish the flames if they started to gutter.

Frost covered the top blanket, making it brittle. Sandra's shoulder throbbed from lying on it but she ignored it. It was too cold to get out from under the blankets unless absolutely necessary. For the fire, Sandra could dimly hear Daniel singing a song, something about 'over the hills and far away'. It lulled her to the netherworld between sleep and wakefulness.

"What time is it?" The captain was awake and feeling restless.

"I have no idea, sir. I seem to have left my watch at home," Sandra replied. It hadn't been the first time she'd noticed its absence.

Sharpe laughed. "You're unlike any woman I've ever met."

"That doesn't surprise me, Captain. I'm not from around here," Sandra responded.

"Where exactly are you from?" Sharpe hadn't had a chance to ask these questions before and he was bored.

"It's a small city in the Canadian plains called Moose Jaw," Sandra said.

"There aren't any cities on the Canadian plains." Sharpe was beginning to question the girl's sanity.

"Not yet, no. Moose Jaw isn't established until around 1903." Sandra waited to see if the meaning of her words sank in.

Despite the narrowness of the cot, Sharpe somehow managed to turn until he could see her face in the dim light. "What are you saying, lass?" he demanded. She didn't have madness burning in her brown eyes.

"It's what, 1810 here? I'm not born for more than a century, Captain Sharpe! When I fell asleep at home, it was February 1998." Sharpe was looking at Sandra as if she had two heads. "Now you know why I didn't tell you earlier."

"It's a bit much to swallow, lass," Sharpe managed around his astonishment.

"And you think I'm completely out of my mind. How do you explain my clothes, my shoes and my attitude?" Sandra didn't want Sharpe treating her like an idiot.

"I'm not sure." Against his better judgement, Richard was inclined to believe her. She'd made three very valid points.

"What's your name?" Richard asked.

"Sandra Ruelle." Sandra saw the shock register on the scarred face. "Yes, my father if French Canadian."

"You were wise to change it," Sharpe said.

"I had the feeling you wouldn't take kindly to it so I took my mother's maiden name," Sandra explained.

"How old are you?"

"Thirty five," Sandra said.

"The fog is letting up." Harper had his head just inside the flap. "We're getting ready to move."

"Yes, sergeant." Sandra escaped the blankets and stood shivering beside the cot. She helped Captain Sharpe out from under the heap of blankets, pulled his great coat out of the bottom and wrapped it around his shoulders. "I'll pack this."

"Thank you." Moving stiffly, Richard made his way out of the tent and went to stand beside the fire. Out of habit he'd picked up his sword belt, ammunition and his Baker rifle. He struggled to buckle the belt around his waist.

"Here, sir." Harris handed him a piece of bread with cheese stuffed inside it and placed a wineskin on the ground beside him. Then he went to help Sandra and Sergeant Harper take down the tent and stow the blankets.

In minutes, they were walking through the fog. The temperature had risen marginally and the fog had receded so they could now see roughly six feet ahead. The horse was skittish. The fog upset her. Sharpe had trouble keeping her under control with only one hand. So much so that Hagman had to catch hold of the reigns and lead the horse.

They moved in silence, their ears straining to hear beyond the white cloud and the sounds they unintentionally made. The sun was still nonexistent. None of them had a watch so they had no idea what time it was. The world had been reduced to a white mass.

Sandra was walking in the rear with Harris. It was unnerving but she wasn't going to complain. Suddenly, Sandra and Harris stopped as one and turned to face the way they'd come. Harris emitted a small, low whistle, warning the others. She didn't know what had warned him but Sandra had had the distinct impression that she was being watched.

The barrel of both rifles came up. Sandra pulled the hammer back on her rifle and started to pull the rags away from the pan. A hand came down over her own, stopping her. "Wait until you can see your target," Daniel whispered in her right ear. "Otherwise the powder may get wet."

The riflemen had created a circle around the captain's horse. Sharpe had pulled his sword out of its scabbard and rested it across his saddle. Harper fired first, his huge seven barrel volley gun barking loudly. Whatever was coming at them seemed to have them surrounded. Within seconds all the riflemen were firing at swatches of movement in the mist.

Sandra had yet to fire her gun. She could see something dark move but not well enough to aim, let alone fire. Fear ate at the edges of her mind. She found it hard to concentrate amid the smoke and noise. She glanced at Harris on her left. He seemed to see better than she did. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. Sandra barely had time to pull the rags away from the pan, turn and aim the rifle.

It was hideous, all black fur, muscles and fangs. It snarled at her as it advanced. Its right paw reached out to slash at her face. Sandra pulled the trigger, point blank range. Bloods and brains splattered her and the ground. Detaching from her horror, Sandra quickly reloaded the rifle with practiced ease.

Another veered around the first one and jumped at Sandra's throat. She thought she saw her death in the creature's lifeless eyes as she brought the rifle to waist level and pulled the trigger. It sprawled into her, knocked her back into the mare. The horse reared. Sharpe just managed to stay in the saddle while Sandra ducked out of the way of her slashing hooves. Harris shot a third creature before it could catch Sandra with her rifle unloaded.

Gasping for breath, Sandra reloaded and fixed her bayonete. They were being herded off to the south east of their present position. The largest number of creatures was attacking Hagman and Sandra to drive them back. She couldn't load her rifle fast enough, even with tapping the round in instead of ramming it in. Daniel was having similar problems.

Just when Sandra thought they were going to be overrun, more shots sounded from before the fog. The reports weren't as loud as the Baker rifles and were coming at shorter intervals. Outnumbered, the creatures disappeared in the fog but their snarls and howls could still be heard.

Reloading frantically, Sandra thought she saw more coming in a pack of six or seven. Then she realized that the shapes were walking on two feet and there was not a single blue jacket among them.

"Sir?" Harris called to the captain as he reloaded his rifle. He kept one eye on the advancing men. They were dressed in civilian clothes except for one who wore a jacket made of animal hide.

"Stand down," Sharpe ordered. He raised his voice to address the men who'd stopped just outside the wall of fog, about 8 feet away. "Who are you?"

"We were about to ask you the same thing."

One of the first things Sandra noticed was their weapons, six shooter hand guns. She had no idea what kind they were, all she knew was that they didn't belong here. There were seen of them, all men, one black, the others white and they were all armed to the teeth.

A man dressed almost completely in black from his cowboy boots to his cowboy hat. Sandra had the sudden impression that they'd stepped into the Wild West. She supposed they just might have.

"Who are you?" Captain Sharpe repeated. He'd seen their guns and they made him nervous because he didn't recognize them.

"I'm Chris. This is Vin, Josiah, J.D. Nathan, Ezra and Buck. Do you know where we are?" He wasn't worried about the men's rifles. They were archaic.

"No," Sharpe responded. Chris Larabee was obviously American, Sharpe wasn't sure about the others.

"Who are you?" The youngest of the men, J.D. had stepped forward and was staring with open curiosity at the men and their uniforms. He'd never seen anything like them before.

"Captain Richard Sharpe, Sergeant Harper, Riflemen Hagman, Harris, Perkins and Herring." Sharpe had gone back to Sandra's improvised name. He didn't want them to know any more about her than necessary. He was hoping to keep her sex a secret. For a while anyway.

"Glad to meet you, Captain Sharpe. What were those things?" the fanciful dressed one, Richard thought his name was Ezra, asked.

"I think we'd better keep moving, sir," Sandra interjected, her voice low. "They may be back."

"He's right," Chris said. "You seem to know where you're going. We'll tag along if you don't mind."

"By all means." Sharpe wanted to know where these men and their weapons were.

Without a word, Harper set out, his gun reloaded and his eyes and ears straining to find the creatures. Harris nudged Sandra up beside the captain's horse. He didn't trust the new arrivals anywhere near the girl.

For their part, the gunmen, for that was what Sandra as convinced they were, set themselves just outside the circle the riflemen made around their commanding officer. Chris, their leader, knew that the soldiers' rifles were slow to load and the creatures had greater speed and probably greater numbers. He wasn't sure if he trusted them but he didn't want to be responsible for their slaughter.

The fog was converging on them again, reducing visibility to three feet. They had yet to stop for the day except for the fight but none of them seemed particularly inclined. The sounds of the creatures kept them going forward.

Sandra walked beside the captain's horse, her left hand resting on his stirrup. Her rifle was slung over her right shoulder, loaded and wrapped against moisture. Faintly, she could hear Sergeant Harper and Chris talking at the front of the column. Daniel walked on the other side of the captain, the man named Ezra was just beyond him, barely visible in the fog. Harris and Perkins brought up the rear. Their shadows were Nathan and Josiah. The one shadowing Sandra was the man dressed in the hide jacket, Vin. J.D. and Buck were as far out front as they dared go.

There were more of them but somehow Sandra didn't feel much safer. The creatures continued a cacophony of sounds out in the white wall. She couldn't get rid of the idea that they were being herded.

They'd been travelling for several hours without a stop. Sandra didn't feel tired. They'd eaten on the road and she drank sparingly. The last thing she wanted was to have to go to the bathroom with the second group around. A quick glance up at the captain showed that he was lightly dozing. He was exhausted from the unaccustomed time in the saddle and his wounds. She would have preferred that they stop to rest for a few minutes but she knew that wasn't an option.

"You're not English," Vin stated from beside Sandra.

Startled, Sandra barely kept herself from jumping. It was the first thing the American had said to her. "I'm Canadian," she replied, lowering her voice.

"What are you doing with them?" the dark haired man continued to scan their immediate vicinity as they talked.

"I just sort of fell in with them." Sandra wished he'd go back to being silent. The masquerade wouldn't hold up to close scrutiny. Vin nodded his acceptance of her explanation then fell silent.

Relieved, Sandra glanced at the captain again. He was watching her. She felt a pang when she looked in his blue eyes. He was in a great deal of pain but he hadn't uttered a word. She unslung her canteen and offered it to him. "You really should drink some, sir," she said when he shook his head no.

Wearily, Sharpe accepted the canteen, removed the stopper and lifted it to his lips. After a few quick swallows, he stoppered it and handed it back. Sandra had rummaged in her pack, found some bread and some meat from the night before and handed them to the captain. She thought she saw a momentary grimace but it passed quickly. Sharpe took a tentative bite of the meat and gamely chewed. Satisfied, Sandra slung the pack and canteen and concentrated on not tripping on rocks underfoot.

"Is he all right?" Vin asked. He'd witnessed the whole exchange and found it strange.

Briefly, Sandra considered whether to lie or not. Honesty seemed the best policy. She chose to tell the truth. They'd find out eventually anyway. "No." Sandra felt the captain's foot shift under her hand so she didn't go into details.

The white wall was slowly turning grey as the sun went down. The pace had reduced as the day wore on.

One moment they were in the thickest part of the fog, the next they were in a green clearing. The fog and the creature were gone.

Startled, they stopped as one and quickly scanned their surroundings. The sun's last rays could just be seen through the tree boughs to the west. Where ever they were, it was warmer but not by much. At least it was above freezing, for that Sandra was grateful.

"Set up camp," Sergeant Harper ordered his men. He had no idea where they were. He had no intention of wandering around in the dark.

Once the tent and fire were set up, the riflemen scattered to do a reconnaissance of the immediate area, hunt and collect wood. Sandra didn't have any luck hunting but she collected as much wood as she could carry and went back to camp.

Harris waited for her when Sandra returned, a worried expression on his face. "I'm concerned for the captain," he said quietly. "He doesn't look very good."

Dropping the wood near the fire, Sandra headed for the tent. Inside she found Sergeant Harper crouched on the ground beside the cot, his attention focused on the lump under the blankets.

"Could we get some light in here?" Sandra asked as she gently moved the large man out of the way. The captain had been weak but otherwise healthy when last she'd seen him. She had no idea what would cause the sudden downward turn in his condition.

"Aye, lass. Whatever you need."

Captain Sharpe was feverish to the touch and completely oblivious to her presence. Scared beyond imagining, Sandra pulled the blankets down and started to undress him. She had to see the shoulder and the arm. It was the only thing that made sense.

The tent flap moved and the black man, Nathan, came in carrying two candles Harper had scrounged from Harris's pack. "I know something about medicine," Nathan said in way of explanation. "What's wrong with him?"

"He has a large wound on his right shoulder and his right radius and ulna are broken. I'd sewn up the shoulder and arm wound and splinted the bones. He seemed to be recovering until now," Sandra informed him. The shoulder wound looked healthy. No head or swelling was obvious. She turned to the arm and with her bayonete carefully cut away the cast.

The moisture in the fog had gotten to it. It was reverting to its paste state. Delirious, Sharpe was becoming combative. It hurt too much to be touched. Nathan caught hold of him and pinned him to the cot.

The moisture of the last two days had invaded the cast and caused the wound to fester. Furious with herself, Sandra cut the stitches so she could get at the pus underneath. Captain Sharpe cried out and struggled vainly to get away from her. "Hold him!" Sandra had slipped with the bayonete and nearly impaled her hand with it.

"We need help in here!" Nathan called. The blond man seemed to have sprouted extra arms and legs. He was having trouble controlling Sharpe.

Harper, Harris and Hagman crowded into the small tent and grabbed hold of anything that was available. The captain fought and cried out against the pain. Gritting her teeth, Sandra cut the final sutures and nearly lost her lunch.

Part of the wound had begun to heal so it wasn't quite as deep as it had been. The bones were still straight. The paste had created a breeding ground for bacteria. The smell was overpowering. A milky, green liquid had gathered at the bottom of the wound.

"I need clean water and clean bandages, as much as you can get me," Sandra ordered. She was draining as much of the liquid as she could over the edge of the cot.

"Perkins is working on more," Harper told her as he handed her the canteen of boiled water they'd carried from the village. There wasn't much left.

"Thanks," Sandra said as she took the canteen from him from him and carefully poured the contents into the wound. She'd left the splints in place. She didn't need to have to worry about the bones separating again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let this happen." Despair threatened to immobilize her.

"You're doing your best, lass." In his concern for his captain, Harper had fallen to old habits. He wasn't even aware of the slip. Sandra chose to ignore it.

By the time she had the top half of the wound clean, Perkins handed in a pot of hot water and the only clean bandages he could find. Beyond the teenager, from around the fire, Nathan's friends watched, concerned.

"Thank you," Sandra said. She turned Sharpe's arm so she could get at the other side of the wound. Cutting the sutures this time was a lot easier. The captain was weak from his struggles and barely able to move his head.

The oozing wasn't as bad on this side. Sandra may be able to save the arm yet. Wiping sweat from her forehead on her jacket sleeve, Sandra dried the wound and looked closely at it now that it was clean. "I need a clean knife," she said.

Nathan removed a blade from a holder he had under his coat. He preferred knives to guns. Carefully, he handed it over to Sandra. The blade was held over the flame of the nearest candle for as long as Sandra could wait. Then she used it to cut away the rotting tissue. Distantly she hoped Sharpe didn't have septicaemia as she worked.

Once it was as clean as Sandra could get it, she proceeded to stitch it up for a second time. The process was repeated on the other side. Then Sandra bandaged the wounds. Exhausted, she sat back on her haunches and studied the finished product. "Do you have anything for paid or infection?" she asked, turning her attention to Nathan as she handed him back his blade, a little worse for wear.

"I can make up a tea that should help with both," Nathan replied. The skill the girl, he hadn't been fooled for a minute, had shown impressed him. He'd noticed the healing burns on Sandra's hands as she'd worked. He thought about inquiring about them but decided to wait. He left the tent to brew the tea.

"Will he be all right?" Harris asked. He'd wet a piece of bandage and used it to wipe at the powder on the woman's face. She always forgot to wash it off or else she was too busy to care.

"I hope so," Sandra replied. She took the rag from him and swiped half-heartedly at her skin. "I feel so badly that I didn't see it coming."

"None of us did, lass," Harper assured her as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Captain Sharpe had lapsed into a deep sleep. He muttered to himself every once in a while. "Get cleaned up and I'll fetch you some supper."

The bandage was filthy by the time Sandra had cleaned her face, neck and the blisters on her hands. Sandra didn't even bother to examine her shoulder. It hurt from firing the rifle again but it would heal in time.

Harper came into the tent with a piece of unidentifiable meat, she didn't ask, some flat bread Perkins had whipped up and a mug of something hot. "This is for you. Mr. Jackson is still working on the tea for Captain Sharpe, so he is."

"Thank you, sergeant." The meat was still sizzling hot. Sandra was grateful for a plate Harper had scrounged for her. Suddenly ravenous, Sandra dug into the bread while she waited for the meat to cool. Her eyes were consistently drawn to the captain's face in the candle light. She felt so guilty for letting him down. Harper stood in the doorway, concern evident in every line.

"I'll stay with him, sir. I doubt I'll be able to sleep anyway," she said.

"I'll check in later. Sleep if you can. Tomorrow is going to be a long day." He and Chris Larabee had decided to keep moving in the morning. Staying in one place didn't seem like a good idea. The creatures might still be around.

"Aye, sir." If she bothered to stop and think about it, Sandra'd be amazed at how easily she'd adjusted to life here. She didn't, so she wasn't. The meat was cool enough that she was able to eat it. She had no idea what it had come from and she didn't bother to ask.

The more civilized part of Sandra's mind rebelled at eating animal flesh. She'd been a vegetarian in her other life but survival seemed more important. Besides, her main reason for boycotting meat was to prevent cruelty to the animals being raised and slaughtered. She wanted no part of it. The animals Hagman and herself had killed the night before had not suffered. One clean shot was all it had taken. No sledge hammers or crowding involved. As it was, she was only able to eat a small portion before she put in on the plate in case the captain was hungry later on.

The tea now brewed, Nathan brought a mug into the tent and handed it to Sandra. "How are your hands?" he asked.

"What?" It took her a moment to figure out what he was referring to. "Oh, yeah. They're fine. Thanks."

"Mind if I look at them?"

"If you must." Sandra set the mug down. It was too hot yet anyway. She held her hands out, palms up.

Even in the dim light of the candles, Nathan could see that the burns were healing well. "How did you do this?" he asked.

"Hot rifle barrel." Sandra didn't feel like going into details.

"Well, you seem to know what you're doing, Sean." It was the name Sharpe had given Sandra to cover her sex. Nathan waited to see if she'd correct him. When she didn't, he continued. "Try to get your captain to drink the tea. I'll make more in the morning before we head out."

"Thank you." Sandra waited until he left. Then she picked the mug up, braced the captain's head with her other hand and tried to coax him into drinking some of the liquid. It was harder than she'd expected. The captain was trembling, whether from shock, fever or cold, she didn't know. She set the mug down again, checked his head wound and left the bandage off. It was nearly healed. A few more days and she'd be able to remove the stitches.

Suddenly very tired, Sandra tried one last time to get Sharpe to drink the tea and even managed to get a couple of mouthfuls down him before she gave up and climbed under the blankets with him. His skin was hot to the touch but he was still trembling. Worried, she slid her arms around his trunk and held him tightly against her own body just as she had under the stairwell that day. Gradually, Sharpe's trembling decreased as did the soft moans but they didn't disappear completely.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you ever so much for the reviews. I'm glad people are still interested in this story. I know I had an awful lot of fun writing it!! I hope you enjoy the new chapter._

_Susanne_

CHAPTER NINE

Sometime during the night, Sandra fell asleep. At least she assumed she did when Harper had to shake her shoulder to wake her up. "It's time, lass," he said.

"Aye, sir." Unintentionally she'd picked up part of the Irishman's accent. It took her a few moments to untangle her limbs from the captain's and then to check his vital signs. Harper waited. The captain looked healthier than he had the night before but not by much.

"He's better but not well enough to travel. I doubt he could remain upright in the saddle," Sandra said.

"We can make the cot into a stretcher for the horse to pull." With a strength Sandra hadn't seen before, Harper picked the captain and his blankets up like a child. He carried Sharpe out to the fire. Sandra followed behind, feeling a little useless.

The others were standing around the fire, riflemen and cowboys alike. Nathan was brewing more tea. Gently, Harper laid Sharpe on the ground near the fire. Concerned, the riflemen gathered around him. Harper ordered Perkins and Hagman to strip the cot down. Harris and Harper set about tearing the tent down. Sandra went to get the horse. She had only a rudimentary understanding of horse care and take but she managed to get the horse saddled and bridled before she led it to the fire.

The tea brewed, Nathan was feeding it to Captain Sharpe, who was semi-conscious. Sharpe was aware enough to drink. Sandra bristled that someone else was tending the captain but she swallowed her protectiveness and stood by and watched.

Half an hour later, the riflemen had the cot turned into a stretcher and had tied it to the horse. The tent was also strapped onto the horse. One of the blankets was sacrificed and lashed over the captain and two other blankets on the stretcher to make sure he wouldn't fall out. All of the canteens had been replenished in a nearby stream.

Sandra had looked at the stream with longing. She felt dirty and she was. She hadn't bathed in six days, the longest she'd gone since she was a child camping. But, as much as she wanted to, there were too many men around, seven of which she wasn't sure she trusted.

"We'll find another stream tonight, lass," Harper said quietly from behind her. "You can bathe then, so you can." He would make sure personally that she did so uninterrupted.

"That would be wonderful, sir."

OOOOO

They stopped for lunch around noon. Ezra was the only one who had a watch. The terrain had changed while they walked. It had become a dense forest, causing problems for the horse and the stretcher. They'd had to stop three times to untangle the ends of the stretcher or to scout a better way for it to go when the underbrush became too dense. The temperature rose the farther into the forest they'd gone to the point that Sandra was sweating uncomfortably in her green jacket.

Sandra walked beside the stretcher so she could easily check the captain's vital signs as they walked. To her right, Vin walked silently. He didn't like the change in scenery and was intent on keeping watch. On the other side of the stretcher Nathan kept within five yards of it, just in case.

Perkins had drawn the lot of leading the horse. Daniel ranged farther ahead to pick the trail. Chris and Buck were even farther ahead than that, aware of everything. Harris and Harper brought up the rear. The sergeant couldn't stand to be too far away from Sharpe. He was convinced that his friend was dying. The others were scattered, on patrol.

The cowboys had a great deal of respect for the riflemen but they weren't going to depend on them to defend them. The revolvers were a smaller calibre but they were significantly faster. Each man had about forty bullets. There were more in their saddle bags but their horses had vanished on them when they found themselves in the fog.

During one stop, Sandra knelt beside the stretcher and touched the back of her hand to the captain's sweaty forehead. He stirred upon feeling her cold fingers on his skin, opened his eyes and looked up at her blurrily.

"How do you feel?" Sandra asked. She set her rifle and pack down to bring her canteen around and held it to his lips. He swallowed a couple of mouthfuls and then he turned his head away. "Where are we?" he asked. Weakly he struggled against the blanket that held him to the stretcher.

"Harper tells me we've gone nearly ten miles but the underbrush is getting thicker and we're travelling slower," Sandra replied. It was wonderful to see Sharpe awake and coherent. Harper, having heard his captain's voice was crowding near, a happy grin on his broad face.

"Get me out of this thing, we'll travel faster if I walk." He hated feeling so damned helpless. Sharpe was accustomed to fending for himself not depending on other people to do it for him.

"Sorry, sir. Maybe in a few days." Sandra untied the top two ropes to allow the captain to pull his good arm out from underneath the confining blanket. As much as she hated to keep food that wasn't refrigerated she didn't see any GE fridges around. So she handed the captain what was left of the meat from the night before. "Eat this sir. You'll get your strength back sooner."

"How are you sir?" Harper asked.

"Better." Sharpe's muscles ached and his arm hurt like the dickens but the fever was gone and the wounds didn't feel hot anymore. Despite his best efforts, he was falling asleep again. He'd eaten some of the meat but didn't have the energy to finish it. It slumped from his hand as darkness closed around him.

"His fever's down sir. He just needs some time to recuperate. It's been a rough week on him." Sandra had seen the concern cloud the Irishman's face.

"So have you," Harper stated. Sandra was taken aback. She'd hoped no one had noticed.

"Not as bad as it would have been if I'd been shipped to the back of the column." Sandra grinned at her sergeant.

"You're right there, lad, so you are."

Chris came back. He'd scouted ahead for a trail. "There's a clearing a quarter of a mile from here. We'll set up camp there for the night," the blond gunfighter informed the gathered men. Sergeant Harper was so concerned about his captain that Larabee had naturally taken over leadership of the men.

The riflemen looked at the sergeant for confirmation before they followed his orders. Chris didn't mind that. There was no good reason for the two groups of men to trust each other. That would have to grow in time. He was surprised at Vin's protectiveness of the lad. But he assumed his friend had his reasons and didn't question him on it.

Wordlessly, the riflemen assumed their formation. Sandra paused long enough to make sure the captain's sword and rifle were still in the stretcher with him, shouldered her own rifle and pack and stood patiently by until the others were ready. The route they had to take to reach the clearing with the stretcher was actually longer than three quarters of a mile.

By the time the group reached the clearing, the sun had disappeared behind the tree tops making the shadows long and deep. The tent was set up, a fire started and the captain gently lay near it while the cot was reconstructed. Sandra and Hagman set out to do some hunting. They would use the food in their packs only as a last resort.

Daniel killed two rabbits while Sandra only came up with some wild onions and some spices. The old Welshman had smiled and said they'd make a fine stew.

When the duo got back to camp, they found that Vin had had similar luck and had two rabbits skinned and gutted and roasting over the fire. Hagman set about making the stew. They'd need more than four rabbits to feed thirteen hungry people. Sandra checked on the captain, resting against his will in the tent. Then Harper found her and led her a short way from the clearing.

"I've found a stream for you, lass, if you still want to bathe." In the day's march Sandra had forgotten about the sergeant's promise.

"I'd love to sir. But I don't have anything clean to put on afterward." Sandra's clothes could virtually stand on their own as most of the riflemen's could. They at least had a second pair of pants and shirt. She didn't even have that!

"I scrounged some clothes from the others. They were happy to give them to you, so they were." Harper handed her a bundle wrapped in a rough blanket. "Follow me."

It was incredible! Always a self-conscious person, Sandra would never have considered skinny dipping in a small pond at night. She'd often seen it done in movies and though how wonderful that would feel. But she hadn't expected to experience it herself.

The water was cold and Sandra kept expecting someone to show up so that her movements were quick at first. As time passed and she listened to Harper softly hum to himself, she began to relax and enjoy the water on her skin, the breeze on her face. With regret, she finally had to climb out and dry her cold skin quickly on the blanket because her teeth refused to stop chattering. She was clean for the first time in days thanks to the soap Harper had included in the bundle and she loved it.

The clothes inside the bundle were a pair of pants, a huge shirt that probably belonged to the sergeant and a pair of men's undergarments. Sandra didn't want to know whose they were. They smelled of soap and the outdoors. Gratefully, she lipped the undergarments on, they were a little big, and then the pants which were about the same size. Part of the blanket was sacrificed to tie her breasts down again and the shirt followed. It was big, which was a good thing. It hid things that shouldn't be seen.

"Wash your clothes, lass. They'll dry by the fire overnight," Sergeant Harper instructed her. He'd been careful not to look while she'd been naked but had still watched over her.

"Even the jacket?" Sandra had no idea how these things worked. It was still warm but she had no idea what the temperature would drop to during the night.

"Aye, lass." Harper smiled and waited patiently for her. When Sandra was ready, her clothes wrung out and rolled into a bundle, her rifle slung over her shoulder and her belt firmly bucked around her waist. She paused long enough to run her hands through her short hair to get it under control. Then, she followed the broad shoulders of Harper through the forest.

A shadow detached from a tree and melted into the forest. It headed in the opposite direction.

OOOOO

The stew was ready by the time they returned. Sandra laid her clothes out to dry, being careful to hide her undergarments. The others looked at her curiously but didn't say anything. Hagman handed her a bowl, spoon and mug of tea. She settled on a rock near the fire and ate.

"Vin and Harris will take the first watch, Hagman and J.D. the second, and Perkins and Josiah the last. We'll switch off tomorrow night," Chris suggested. He preferred having more people for watched than to wear everyone out trying to cover them.

"Herring will stay with the captain," Harper added.

"I assumed he would," Chris replied. Nathan had told him how good the boy was at healing and had decided to leave him to do what he did best.

"Here," Nathan said. He'd waited until the girl had finished her food before handing a mug of tea. "This is for the captain."

"Thanks," Sandra replied. She refilled her bowl with stew and headed for the tent. Harris was sitting with the captain, quietly reading from a good when she came in.

"Do you feel better?" Harris asked. The young lass looked more human now that she was clean.

"Immeasurably. How's he doing?"

"He's sleeping." The Irishman moved out of the way and headed for the door.

"Thank you, Harris," Sandra called after him. Then she turned to the lump under the blankets. As much as she hated to, she work Sharpe up by gently shaking his left shoulder.

"Here's some stew and tea for you sir. Please eat as much of it as you can," Sandra said. She'd set the bowl and mug down so she could help Richard sit up enough to eat without choking.

"Thank you," Sharpe said. With a bit of difficulty, the captain propped the bowl up in his lap and used his good hand to spoon the hot food into his mouth. He was ravenous! Sandra held the mug and handed it to him when he asked. The broken arm was still causing Sharpe pain but form the look of the bandages. It was nearly clean of infection.

"I'll clean the arm after you're done," Sandra informed him. The captain was regaining his strength all ready. She could tell by the steady grip of his left hand on the spoon and the volume of the stew he was getting down.

"You bathed," Richard observed between mouthfuls. The young woman had lost weight since she'd come. Her high cheek bones could just be seen making her look younger and more feminine. Her eyes, however, had a harder edge to them than she'd had before.

"Yes, Sergeant Harper watched over me. It was wonderful."

"They lent you some clothes?" It was more of a statement than a question. The large clothes made her look younger still.

"Yes. Mine are drying by the fire." Sharpe had finished the stew and the tea and was settled back onto the cot. Even though he felt stronger, he still tired easily and he hated himself for it.

"How's the shoulder?" She'd fired the rifle again, unbelievably.

"It's bruised but fine sir." Sandra hadn't thought about it and had only noticed the large black, blue and purple area on her body when getting dressed after her bath.

Full of stew and the tea working its magic on his aches and pains, the captain was drifting off to sleep. Quietly, Sandra took the bowl and mug out to the fire. They'd be washed in the morning and sat with the others. Hagman was playing softly on a fiddle and singing songs that she'd never heard before.

Staring at the flickering flames dancing in the fire, Sandra's mind wandered to other campfires and other singers. Her Uncle Brian used to love to play his guitar, songs she knew 'You Are My Sunshine' and others she only knew a few words to 'Tom Dooley'. It had never felt like summer unless she sand around the fire with her family. After his mother died, suddenly her uncle had stopped singing. She missed him and 'Tom Dooley' terribly.

Tears threatened to overflow Sandra's eyes. Casually, she wiped them away. Now was not the time. Tired, she picked up her pack, rifle and ammunition belt and headed to the tent.

The temperature had dropped since the sun had gone down but not enough to warrant sleeping with the captain in the cot. Sandra unrolled her blanket from the bottom of her pack, lay down and pulled the other half over her. Her hand snaked out of the blanket to rest on the rifle barrel and then she was asleep.

In the middle of the night Sandra woke just long enough to blow out the candle she'd forgotten about and settled back down on the ground.


	10. Chapter 10

_Hello! Thank you very much for your reviews! They keep me motivated to continue updating this story. _

_I've added some information about McQueen and Hawkes. They are from "Space: Above and Beyond". I figured not that many people have seen the show or know what invitroes are so I added that so you don't get completely lost! Seemed like a good plan._

_Susanne_

CHAPTER TEN

"Colonel." Hawkes was shaking his shoulder incessantly.

"What, lieutenant?" The last time the young marine had awaken him in the middle of the night, it was to show him a neat lizard he'd found that fluoresced in the dark.

"There are people out near the pond. There are thirteen of them, one woman, twelve men. One of the men's injured badly. They've been carrying him around in a stretcher," Hawkes spouted.

The cave had become home over the past week. There had been no sign of any inhabitants other than themselves and an array of animals, lizards and birds. The two soldiers had had to revert to the bare essentials. Their hand held lasers only had so much power so that they had to use them sparingly. After a few mistarts, they'd weaved mats to sleep on and had tanned furs from some of the animals they'd killed for meat.

"Show me," T.C. McQueen ordered. He rolled out of his blankets and followed the taller lieutenant out into the night.

OOOOO

Most of the morning was gone by the time Sandra woke up. Startled, she rolled quickly out of her blanket, picked up her rifle and bet and was out the door before she was completely conscious.

"It's all right, lad," Harper assured her from the fire. "We've decided to stay until the captain's better. The forest is too dense to pull the stretcher any farther, so it is."

"I was worried I'd slept in," Sandra said in an attempt to cover her panic.

"Just about, you and Vin have the next watch. I'll keep an eye on Captain Sharpe, so I will." Harper hadn't wanted the girl on watch but it would look odd if she didn't. Besides, she'd proven herself twice. "Have some stew."

"I have the feeling I'm going to learn to hate stew, sir." Grimacing, Sandra accepted a bowl and a small loaf of unleven bread. She just barely managed to juggle them well enough to take a mug of tea.

"Ah, lad, I'm afraid we all will," Harper responded.

"I'm all ready sick of it," Ezra growled from the other side of the fire. He'd fared the worst of all of them. While his boots had been fashionable, they had been intended for horseback riding, not walking miles on end. His feet were swollen inside the boots and had huge blisters.

Unsure how to react, Sandra simply smiled at him and nodded her head in understanding.

"Your name's Sean, isn't it?" Ezra asked in his southern accent.

"Yes," Sandra replied, her voice habitually pitched lower than was natural.

"You don't strike me as a Sean." Sandra was careful to keep her attention on her food so he couldn't see the unease in her eyes.

"Well, apparently my parents thought so," was the only response she could think of on the spot.

"It's time for your watch, lad," Harper interrupted. Dutifully, Sandra set the food down, picked her rifle and belt up and paused to face the sergeant.

"Could you make sure the captain eats and check his bandage for me, please, sir?" she asked.

"I'll take care of it, so I will," Harper replied.

Sandra caught up her rifleman's jacket on her way by and headed in the direction of the pond as Harper had indicated.

"There's something odd about that boy," she heard Ezra say as she left.

Two hundred years outside the clearing, Josiah waited to be relieved. She'd heard some of the gunmen say that he was a priest of some kind. It was hard to believe with the gun strapped to his hips.

"I'm here to relieve you," Sandra said as she came close to him. Unconsciously, she'd taken up the habits Hagman had told her about and moved silently through the forest. Imperceptibly, she saw Josiah jump before he turned toward her. Nodding to her, he headed back to camp. Sandra couldn't remember hearing the man talk so far in their journey.

Unsure of what exactly was expected of a piquet, Sandra just sort of wandered around a big, always keeping the camp on one side of her and her eyes and ears open. At home, it had been the middle of winter, albeit a mile one, so she found it a bit of a shock to be standing in the middle of the rainforest where the temperature hung around 25 degrees Celsius. Everything was so green and alive, Sandra smiled. A sense of contentment settled on her. If she had to be away from home, this wasn't such a bad place to be. She liked the people, especially the riflemen.

"How are you doing?" It was Daniel. He'd deliberately spoken while he was still several feet away so as not to startle the woman.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," Sandra admitted. She desperately wished someone would explain what was expected of her in various capacities.

Smiling, Daniel genuinely liked the girl and thought she'd make a good soldier, Hagman settled himself on a large boulder.

"What don't you understand?" he asked.

They talked quietly for hours. There were times Sandra wished she could take notes but she knew that she could ask the older man any questions, even for a third or fourth time. In her first life, Sandra had been a fierce loner. She spent time with family but few other people and even that hadn't been intentional. She felt her connection to the green jacketed men strongly and no longer found the need to be alone, at least not yet.

The sun had disappeared over the tree tops when Perkins came to relieve her. "Let's go hunting," Hagman suggested.

"All right," Sandra replied. She enjoyed her time with the older man. They had kind of a father/daughter relationship or mentor/student relationship going on. A pang of guild surfaced because she hadn't checked on Captain Sharpe before heading out but she decided to trust Harper and Nathan to take care of him while she was gone.

The light was nearly gone by the time they got back to camp, triumphant. In their journeys they'd shot a large, brightly coloured bird, two rabbits and three other small furry animals that were probably members of the rodent family. Hopefully they were edible.

As soon as the duo was back in camp, Sandra headed for the tent. She found Sharpe sitting up. He was trying to get up and out of the low slung cot. "How do you feel, sir?" Sandra asked as she caught hold of his good arm to help him.

"I'm bloody tired of that question," Richard growled. Harper had been in the tent six times during the day asking the same question.

"We're worried about you, sir. That's all." Sandra struggled to hide a smile. The captain's attitude seemed to indicate that he was definitely better.

"I know," Sharpe's voice softened. "I hate feeling useless."

"Everyone does, sir." Sandra sat him on the edge of the cot so she could examine the bandages on his forearm. They were clean. "Maybe you'd like to join us by the fire for supper, sir?"

"Stew?" The dark look on his face indicated his opinion of the last few meals.

"I'm not sure, sir. Hagman and I shot a few things. Vin and Buck also got something. Whatever we have there will be a variety." Gently, she pulled the captain to his feet and led him out of the tent to the fire.

Different scents floated from the flames as the animals were cooking. There were also vegetables that the Welshman and Sandra had found and Perkin's bread he'd made before his watch started.

The others nodded at the captain as he sank gratefully on to one of the boulders and held his good hand towards the flames. The blond captain was stronger since his arm became infected but he was still pale and tired easily. Stubbornness reared its ugly head. The captain refused to admit how weak he was feeling after just a short walk.

"Would you like some tea, captain?" Nathan asked. He could plainly see how exhausted the blond Englishman was but he could also see the grim defiance in his blue eyes.

"No." The tea helped with the pain but it also made him sleepy. Something Sharpe didn't need at the moment.

"Here, sir." Harris handed him a plate with an unidentified meat, wild onions and a small loaf of bread.

"Thank you." The meat had an unusual taste to it. Sharpe wasn't sure what it was and he didn't ask. He ate most of it before he couldn't eat any more. Sandra sat beside him and finished her own food long after he was done. Harper sat on his other side, being over protective.

"Buck and I are on the next watch," Chris said as he stood up. "J.D. and Harris will relieve us."

The indicated men needed. Then Chris and Buck left the fire. The meal done, the others drifted to their bedrolls. Hagman went to feed and water the horse. Harris went to the pond to bathe. Sandra took her rifle apart and began carefully cleaning it thoroughly. Some of the others were also busy cleaning their weapons.

"Did you see anything while you were on watch?" Vin asked from across the fire.

"No. I did feel like I was being watched, though. Daniel said I was imagining things," Sandra replied, not looking up from her rifle.

"I had the same feeling," Vin responded.

"Do you think it was the creatures?" Sandra asked, even though she all ready knew the answer.

"No, I sensed too much intelligence behind it," Vin said.

"There's something out there?" Harper asked, concerned.

"Apparently," Vin stated.

"Me and Hagman will keep an eye out," Harper said. "Sean, you stay with the captain. The rest of you stay alert," Harper ordered.

Her rifle clean and reassembled, Sandra turned her attention to her captain. "Are you ready, sir?" she asked.

"Yes." Sharpe was exhausted and sore. Bed suddenly sounded like a good idea.

Sandra stood, slung her rifle and offered the taller man a hand up. Carefully, Sharpe stood up, grabbing Sandra's hand at the last minute to keep from losing his balance. Tenderly, she helped him to the tent and then into his cot. "Where did you sleep last night?" Sharpe asked once he was comfortably situated.

"Here, on the ground. I don't have to keep you warm anymore," Sandra replied. "Sir."

"I feel badly that you have to sleep on the ground while I'm here on the cot," Sharpe admitted. Being a very honourable man, he believed that women should be treated with dignity and respect. That meant him on the ground and her on the cot.

"Don't worry, captain, I'll live." As unlikely as it was, she still wanted to be treated like any of the others. The riflemen's attitudes toward her made it impossible for her to be just one of the boys. But, they were respectful and treated her with dignity so things could definitely be worse.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, sir, I promise you that I'm fine," Sandra stated.

"Good night, Miss Sandra," Sharpe said quietly, his eyes closed.

"Good night, sir." She snuffed the candle and rolled up in her blanket, the ever present rifle by her side.

OOOOO

"What do you think, sir?" Hawkes asked. They were back at the cave after a day spent observing the camp. Supper had been simple and quick.

"I don't know," McQueen replied. They seemed harmless enough. The day had been centered on general survival and defence. He'd listened to the girl and the older soldier talk about soldiering. He got the impression that some of the men didn't know she was female. She certainly didn't dress like one. That may be a weakness he could manipulate. Get her and the others would do as he said to prevent injury.

The man, the one who came out of the tent was obviously wounded. He supposed that they were waiting for him to heal enough to mover without the stretcher. After that, with any luck, they'll leave.

"Should we approach them, sir? Maybe they know a way off the planet," Hawkes suggested.

"Did you see their weapons, Hawkes? They're something out of the dark ages," McQueen responded.

"At least they're people." Hawkes hated to be alone. He stayed in the Marines so he wouldn't be alone again.

"I don't think they'll appreciate two invitroes joining their ranks," McQueen stated.

He and Hawkes were invitroes. The countries of the world had gotten tired of losing their sons and daughters to war. So, they came up with a new plan. They decided to grow the next generation of soldier in an incubation tank.

The invitroes were dumped out of the tanks at 18 years old. They were innocent as new born children but that quickly changed as they were sent to school to learn how to kill. After a war to proclaim invitro rights, the program was stopped but the remaining invitroes were treated as sub human by most 'natural borns'. The one obvious difference was that invitroes didn't have belly buttons like natural born people. They were attached to the machines that nurtured them by a cord that attached at the back of their necks.

"We don't have to tell them," Hawkes responded.

"Eventually, one of them will notice our lack of a navel on our bellies and the one that is on the back of our necks," McQueen stated, trying to control the impulse to beat the naivety out of the boy. Hawkes had run away part way through his schooling. There were significant gaps in his knowledge.

"Not if we're careful. Some of them don't even know that the one is a girl," Hawkes defended his idea.

"I'll consider it, lieutenant. Get some sleep. I'll take the first watch," McQueen ordered.

OOOOO

Smoke billowed past her eyes. Cannons thundered somewhere in front of her. Men were screaming, blood and powder filled the air. A French soldier appeared directly in front of Sandra. Huge, his bayonete arced down toward a helpless Captain Sharpe.

In slow motion, Sandra lifted the rifle and tried to take aim but her hands were shaking too badly. The bayonete came down, hacking into the captain's chest and his stomach. Blood spurted out of the gaping wounds, obscuring his pain ravaged face.

OOOOO

Sandra sat bolt upright in her blanket, her right hand searched frantically for the stock of her rifle. Her heart was pounding against her rigs. She was breathing like a steam engine. The sun had yet to come up. The tent was dark as pitch.

Desperately, Sandra pulled herself to the side of the cot and searched for the captain's face with her hand. When she found it, it was warm to the touch. She slipped the hand down to his neck and breathed a sigh of relief as his jugular pulsed under his finger tips.

"What's wrong?" The captain's voice was soft in the dark.

"Nothing, sir. Just a bad dream," Sandra answered and hoped that he couldn't feel the trembling of her hand.

"What was it about?" His good hand had come to rest on Sandra's. His fingers tightened around her cold ones.

"Battle."

"I'm surprised you haven't had them before." Sandra could feel Sharpe shift in the cot until he was lying on his right side, facing her.

"I couldn't save you." Sandra barely managed to stop a sob from escaping her lips. To hide her pain and weakness even in the dark, she rested her forehead on the coat and stared toward the ground.

"But you did," Sharpe said softly.

The words recovered her. "Yes, I suppose I did." More in control, she raised her head. "I'm sorry sir, it just seemed to overwhelm me."

"They usually do, lass," Sharpe stated.

"I'm fine now. I think we should both get some sleep." Gently, Sandra withdrew her hand and lay down on the ground again. "Good night, sir, and thank you."

"You're welcome." It took the captain a long while to fall asleep. He kept relieving the feel of the girl's trembling fingers in his hand. Guilt ate as his mind. She shouldn't have had to see that much less have nightmares about war. In the dark he could hear her deep, easy breathing. He took comfort from that and gradually joined her in sleep.

OOOOO

The tent was hot. Sandra woke up and glanced at the interior. The canvas was awash in light. Above her, on the cot, the captain shifted restlessly. He was covered with three blankets and he wore his green jacket. Stifling a moan, Sandra sat up and looked at the handsome man. He was still asleep, his face turned towards her.

Feelings Sandra didn't want to deal with threatened. A thin sheen of sweat covered Sharpe's skin. Gently, so as not to disturb him, Sandra pulled the top two blankets off of his body and half removed the other. Worried about a possible fever, Sandra touched her fingers to his forehead and was relieved to find a normal temperature.

A moment to untangle her feet from her blanket and then Sandra was out the tent door, in search of her other clothes. Hagman, Tanner, Harris and Harper were around the fire, nursing a pot of tea. "Morning," she said as she accepted a mug. "Thank you."

"Long night?" Harper asked. The girl didn't look like she'd slept much.

"Yeah, I guess it was. Who's on watch?" Sandra responded.

"Josiah and Buck. You and Hagman are going out soon," Harper informed her. "How's the captain?"

"Sleeping. Watch over him?"

"I will, Sean. I'm not due up for watch until tonight," Harris volunteered.

"Thank you." Her tea finished, Sandra headed into the bushes to heed the call of nature. She didn't go far. She was afraid of getting lost, just enough to make sure no one was watching. Finished, she went back to camp, picked her dry clothes up and headed for the pond. She hadn't asked him to, but Hagman came with her and kept watch while she bathed.

It felt as wonderful as the first time. She relaxed right away, not caring who saw her and found out her secret. Content, Sandra swam through the cool water of the pond, back and forth, back and forth. Her muscles weary, Sandra concentrated on getting rid of the layers of sweat and grime.

"We're being watched," Hagman called quietly. Sandra had all ready climbed out of the pond and was getting dressed when he spoke.

"I'm just about done," Sandra answered. She had her pants on. Her breasts were tied down and she was pulling her shirt on over her head. "Where are they?" she asked.

"I don't know," Hagman stated.

Sandra tied her shoes, picked up her green jackets and dirty clothes, then her rifle and ammunition. Daniel pushed her lightly in the direction of the camp. Then he brought up the rear.

"Did you see anyone?" Josiah asked when they passed him.

"No," Hagman replied. "But I felt them."

"So can I," Josiah murmured, more to himself than either of them. "Tell Chris when you get back."


	11. Chapter 11

_Hello! I haven't forgotten! Life's just gotten a little busy of late. I hope you enjoy the new chapter!_

_Susanne_

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"So, no one has actually seen anything unusual?" Chris asked. The others had confirmed that they too had felt the unknown presence. Grimly, the men around the fire shook their heads, no.

"Until we find out what it is, I'm going to double the watch. Vin, Sean, you're together. Hagman, J.D., you have the other side," Chris ordered. "If that's agreeable with you, captain?"

Sharpe had joined his men by the fire. He was still weak but the pain was decreasing slowly. The thought of spending all day in the stifling tent had forced him into the fresh air beyond. "Certainly," Sharpe stated. He hated Sandra being with one of the others but it would look odd if he protested.

With warm water, Sandra was carefully cleaning the wound on Sharpe's forearm. When she'd checked the shoulder, she was happy to find it healed enough that she was going to remove the stitches once she was done with the arm. "This may hurt some, sir," she warned him.

With a knife borrowed from Nathan, Sandra carefully cut through the thick threads of the sutures and used a rough pair of tweezers Nathan had also lent her to pull the thread through. The captain hissed between his teeth against the pain but remained motionless otherwise. Relief flowed through her upon realizing just how well the shoulder had actually healed. The head wound was similarly healed when she removed those sutures as well.

"There you go, sir," Sandra said. "Except for the arm, you're pretty much healed."

"Thank you," Sharpe replied. At least that was something.

Her hands washed, Sandra caught up some bread and leftover meat. Then she headed for the piquet point. Vin followed behind.

OOOOO

The first two hours passed quietly. Vin and Sandra had worked out a circuit that they followed to cover as much distance as possible. They actually spent very little time together which was fine by Sandra. She tried to talk as little as she could. She doubted she was fooling him but still preferred to keep up the charade.

Halfway through her circuit, Sandra felt the eyes on her gain. As unhurried as she could manage, she unstrapped her rifle and checked to make sure it was loaded and ready. The hammer was cocked as she nervously continued on her way. There was nothing that immediately jumped out at her to convince her that she wasn't just overreacting to an active imagination. Then, a twig snapped behind her.

Whirling, Sandra found a tall man, over six feet tall, taller than Harper, standing there. He held his hands away from his body, trying not to frighten her.

"What do you want?" Sandra demanded in her deepest, loudest voice. Vin should only be a few yards away. She hoped he'd hear and come running.

"I just want to talk to you," the man replied. Sandra sensed that he was young but he also had a hard edge that set her internal alarms ringing.

"What about?" Sandra asked. Her rifle was aimed unerringly at the man's chest.

"How did you get here?" he asked. He was being very careful to not threaten her.

"We walked." It seemed like the best response.

"Who are you?" the man persisted. His brown hair was slick with sweat from the heat, plastering it in loose curls on his forehead.

"Why?" Sandra shot back. She wasn't going to reveal anything to this man.

"I've been here for a week and you're the first people I've seen. I don't want to hurt you."

"You've been watching us." It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

"Yes." The man's face turned a deep shade of red as he blushed. He was a trained Marine. He should have been able to do this without being detected, especially by people like these.

"What do you want?" Sandra asked. She was hoping to keep him engaged long enough for Vin to get here.

"Just to talk," the man said.

Vin had circled around when he heard Sandra's voice. He came up behind the tall man, his gun aimed, hammer cocked. "Time to talk is over," he said as he jabbed the intruder in the back with the barrel of his gun. "Start walking."

Cautiously, Sandra moved out of the way so their captive could walk in the direction of the camp. The man had just passed her on the narrow trail when a beam of light flashed out of the bushes to her right and struck Vin full in the chest. He crumpled to the ground soundlessly.

Reacting on instinct, Sandra hit the captive across the back with her rifle, sending him sprawling in the dirt. She aimed at the bushes and fired her rifle, mostly to warn the others. She jammed the stock of the rifle into the back of the brown haired man's skull when he tried to stand up, knocking him unconscious. Dropping to the ground, Sandra found Vin's gun and quickly surveyed her surroundings. All she saw was dense green foliage in every direction. Damn.

Another beam came from another group of bushes. Sandra fired two rounds into them before the beam vanished. She thought she heard a muffled moan but she could be sure. The Baker rifle was reloaded and the bayonete fixed within moments. Cautiously, Sandra stuck her head above the shrubs she was huddled behind with the two men but there was nothing to see.

Sandra nearly jumped out of her skin when Hagman appeared beside her soundlessly. "I think I might have hit him," she whispered to the Welshman. "Over in those bushes."

Nodding, Hagman disappeared again to be replaced by Harris and Chris. J.D., Josiah and Buck weren't far behind. "Are you all right?" Harris asked.

"Fine," was Sandra's curt reply. She turned to Vin and examined him briefly. "Tie him up. His friends are trying to get him back." Sandra indicated the unconscious intruder.

Chris cut some vines and used them to tie the man's hands behind his back. There was a large red area on Vin's chest but otherwise he appeared to be simply out cold. Relief flowed through Sandra. "I think Vin will be okay once he wakes up," she informed the concerned gunmen.

"I found a trail of blood." Hagman had returned. "I need some help." Harris and Josiah left with him.

"Let's get back to camp," Chris suggested. J.D. and Buck picked up their intruder while Sandra and Chris took charge of Vin, who moaned softly.

OOOOO

Harper, Ezra and Nathan were waiting for them. The large Irishman paced in front of the tent and only stopped when the party appeared out of the undergrowth.

"What happened?" Nathan asked, helping Sandra and Chris lower Vin to the ground.

"We were attacked," Sandra stated. "His friends are going to want him back."

The intruder had been sat with his back resting against a tree. Then his arms were tied around the trunk. J.D. emptied his pockets and marvelled at his strange clothing.

Vin was coming around. He shook his head to rid it of some of the cobwebs. Then, groaning, he sat up carefully. "Are you all right?" Sandra asked as she knelt down beside him.

"My head and my chest hurt but it could be worse," Vin murmured.

"Yeah, you could be dead," J.D. stated.

"Are you all right?" Harper demanded. He pulled the smaller woman to her feet and visually examined her for wounds.

"I'm fine, sir." Sandra could see the intense fear that gnawed at Harper. He'd never be able to get beyond her being female no matter how well she proved herself.

"Are you sure?" he demanded again. Chris and the other gunmen were staring at him as though he'd lost his mind.

"I'm positive, sir."

"J.D., Nathan, on watch. Now," Chris ordered. When they were gone, he turned his attention to the Irishman and Sean. "What exactly is going on here?" he demanded. "You've been overprotective of the boy ever since we met you."

Sandra, suddenly feeling very tired, turned to the gunman. "I'm not a boy," was all she said.

Confusion crossed the man's handsome face, to be slowly replaced with understanding. "What's your real name?" Chris asked.

If she weren't so tired, Sandra would have laughed at the shocked look on Buck's face. His open mouth could catch flies. "Sandra."

"Well, Sandra. It's nice to finally meet you. You did good out there," Chris told her.

"Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go check on the captain." Sandra stopped long enough to hand Vin his gun before she wandered toward the tent.

"How long have you known?" Chris asked Vin.

"Since I met her," the blond gunfighter stated. It made him nervous that Buck knew. He wasn't exactly subtle when it came to the gentler sex.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Chris was still disgusted with himself that he hadn't noticed sooner.

"Didn't think it was important."

OOOOO

"What was the shooting about?" Sharpe asked when Sandra entered the tent.

"We met our neighbours," she responded laconically. Exhausted, she laid her rifle on the ground, removed her ammunition belt and sank gratefully onto her blanket.

"Anyone hurt?" Richard persisted.

"Not seriously," Sandra responded, her eye lids slamming shut. Then she was asleep.

Worried, the captain rolled onto his right side to peer down at the woman from the edge of the cot. Harper stuck his head in the tent flap. "What happened?" Sharpe demanded in a quiet voice.

"There was trouble on the watch. Mr. Tanner was injured and Sandra took a prisoner," Harper enjoyed the lass's success. "Daniel, Harris and Josiah are following a blood trail from the one the lass shot."

The blond officer looked down at the sleeping girl with new respect. Either she was very good or very lucky. He wasn't sure which. He'd always thought he'd rather have lucky soldiers than good ones. "Wash she injured?" he asked.

"No. She told the others she wasn't a boy, though, so she did."

"They would have found out eventually. Where's the prisoner?" Sharpe carefully sat up and tried not to step on Sandra as he made for the tent entrance. Harper slipped by him, picked Sandra up like she was a child and laid her on the cot since the captain wasn't using it at the moment.

The tall man dressed in the odd clothes was slumped forward, his head lolling. "Sandra smacked him in the head," Patrick informed Sharpe with great relish.

Blood trickled down the side of his face nearest the captain. Sharpe knelt beside the man so he could see him better. He was young but not as young as Perkins. He was strong, well muscles and was either unconscious or pretending to be. The blood was coming from somewhere above his hairline. What his ethnic origin was was anyone's guess. He was while with dark brown hair.

"Do we know where Hagman and the others are?" Sharpe asked as he regained his feet. He tried to ignore the fact that the world swam drunkenly before his eyes because of the change in altitude.

"We're here, sir," Hagman said as the trio stepped out of the trees. "The trail disappeared half a mile away."

"Whatever Sean hit wasn't human," Josiah informed them. "The blood was brown in colour."

The gathered men glanced nervously at each other. It was hard enough fighting other humans without throwing in an unknown commodity.

"Buck, Harris, join J.D. and Nathan on watch. We don't need them getting closer than they all ready have," Chris ordered.

Harris looked to his captain for confirmation before heading out. It burned the captain to let other people order his men around but he realized he'd been incapacitated for a while and someone had to assume the role. He'd wished it had been Patrick, though.

Still feeling the after affects of being stunned, Vin wrapped himself up in his blanket and laid near the fire. He was shaking but he didn't know why. Hagman knelt in front of the prisoner and pulled his head up by the hair.

"He's not the same as the other one," he stated. While he was tracking their attacker, he'd found green, mottled fur as well as the blood. "I don't think they were together."

"Why not?" Richard asked. The Welshman had been a poacher before he'd joined the army and was accustomed to tracking. He also tended to be right when he made assumptions.

"From where Sean shot the creature, he could have just as easily hit him then Sean or Vin," Hagman replied.

"But he didn't," Chris interjected. The three of them were gathered around the man tied to the tree, unsure of what to make of him.

"Luck." Hagman let the boy's head fall back to his chest, slowly. He didn't want to hurt him any worse than he all ready was. As Hagman stood up, he noticed something unusual on the back of the boy's neck. Cautiously, he moved until he had a clear view. "Sir."

"What is it, Daniel?" Sharpe asked as he walked over to join him.

"Here." Hagman pointed at, what looked like, a belly button on the back of the boy's neck. Looking at it made his skin crawl. There was something decidedly unnatural about it.

"What is it?" Sharpe asked. He too didn't like to look at it. He wasn't a superstitious man but he still found it made his skin crawl.

"I don't know, sir." Kneeling down, Hagman examined the boy's clothing. He had to find out. There was a finely worked metal seam that ran from his neck down to the groin area. There were several more across the top of pockets on the front of the smock. A metal tab hung from the top of the seam and the bottom. Experimentally, he grasped the top tab between his thumb and first finger of his right hand and pulled down. It made an odd sound as the tab travelled along the metal teeth, leaving the seam open in its' wake.

"What are you doing, Daniel?" Sharpe asked.

"Checking a hunch, sir." Once the tab had nearly joined the bottom one, Hagman let go and tentatively pulled the two sections of cloth apart. The boy had a hairless, extremely well muscled chest and stomach but no belly button that he could find.

The boy moaned softly and stirred briefly before settling down again. "It's his belly button sir," Hagman announced as he pulled the metal tab back up.

"You're joking," the captain scoffed. Then he realized that the Welshman was not. "You can't be serious."

"I'm afraid so, captain."

The others, with the exception of Vin, who was sleeping fitfully by the fire, had come to see what the disturbance was about. Disbelief murmured through their ranks.

"How can that be?" Harper asked.

"I don't know, sir. Maybe Miss Sandra would have an explanation," Hagman stated.

However this boy had been born, it wasn't naturally and therefore, beyond their capacity. But maybe not Sandra's.

"Who's 'Miss Sandra'?" Josiah asked. Ezra took him a few feet away to bring him up to speed on current events.

"Maybe," Sharpe agreed. There were magical events afoot and he didn't like it. He wished fervently that he was back with his company fighting the frogs and not here with creatures in the odd forest and beams of light that knocked you out.

"Where is she?" Hagman asked.

"Asleep," Harper replied. He didn't want to wake the girl unless he absolutely had to.

The boy moaned and his head carefully lifted up from where his chin had rested on his chest. Blue eyes blinking, he looked up at his captors and struggled, briefly, against his bonds. His head pounded dreadfully and the sun hurt his eyes but Cooper Hawkes refused to give them the satisfaction by showing it.

"What are you?" Chris demanded. He was standing directly in front of their captive.

Cooper's stomach sank somewhere down around his knees. He'd hoped that by some miracle they hadn't noticed. Obviously they had. He could tell by the hostility and horror reflected in the man's pale blue eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Cooper was hoping to stall them. McQueen must know by now that he'd been captured and was hopefully working on a plan to rescue them. Or not. He'd gone against orders when he'd approached the girl but they'd seemed so harmless he couldn't stop himself. Now he wished he had.

"Don't play dumb with me," Chris hissed and struck Cooper across the face with the back of his right hand. "Why do you have this?" Chris pointed at the navel.

Recovering from the pain and surprise, Cooper glared at the man dressed in black. Then he surveyed the others observing his interrogation. The girl wasn't among them. Tentatively, he pulled on the ropes binding his arms behind him around the tree trunk. Whoever had tied him knew their knots. They didn't give at all.

"Well?" Chris demanded. Rage burned in the captive's blue eyes. If it got out, Cooper would be a very dangerous man.

"I was born with it," Cooper spat back. He was developing an intense dislike for this man.

"What are you?" Chris reiterated.

Hawkes glowered at the man. Even if he did tell him, he doubted any of them would understand. Instead, he chose to remain silent.

Angered beyond understanding, Chris kicked the boy in the stomach. Then he pummelled him in the head with a clenched fist.

Instinctively, Cooper tried to pull his legs up and duck his head as pain spasmed through him. Desperately, he pulled on the ropes. When they didn't give, he tried to push himself up along the tree trunk. If he could reach an upright position, he'd be better able to protect himself.

"Stop it!" Sandra yelled. She'd woken up because of the loud voices and couldn't believe what she was seeing. Crossing the distance from the tent to the tree at a dead run, she pushed the taller man away from the captive.

"Leave him alone," Sandra hissed. She'd unconsciously brought her rifle. She aimed it at the gunman. No one hurt a helpless man in her presence, no one.

"He's not human," Josiah told her, trying to protect his friend. He didn't like her pointing that archaic weapon at Chris even though he doubted she'd use it.

"What are you talking about?" Sandra demanded. They were all rational people. There had to be an explanation that made sense.

"Look at the back of his neck, lass," Harper said.

Lowering the barrel of her rifle, Sandra stepped closer to the bound man and looked. Shock registered on her face before she could stop it. Cautiously, she knelt down beside the boy. "How were you born?" she asked him gently.

"In a tank," the boy spat at her. Blood was running freely from his nose and split lips. A large bruise was darkening his left cheek.

"You were artificially gestated?" Sandra asked. The whole conversation was going to go over the others' heads but that was probably just as well. Obviously, he was from a place more advanced than her own time. A scary thought.

"Yeah. I'm genetically engineered. I have no parents, just a batch number." Cooper was surprised not to see the fear and revulsion he'd expected.

"Why? Why would anyone do that?" Sandra was going to get as much information as she could before making a judgement.

"The natural borns' needed someone to fight their wars. They made us invitroes so no more of their sons and daughters would die." Cooper could tell from the confused expressions on the men's faces that none of them were following what they were saying.

"That's terrible!" Sandra couldn't believe that any civilization could be so cold and amoral as to create another race of sentient beings to use as cannon fodder. "Are you treated as equals to the natural born?"

"No."

"How are you born?" Sandra wasn't real clear on this point.

"We're created in a Petri dish and then put in tanks to grow. We're released from the tanks at the equivalent of eighteen years old. Then we're sent to processing centers and taught everything we need to know," Cooper explained. He was careful to keep his eyes on the woman.

"Such as?" Desperately, Sandra hoped he didn't come from her own future.

"The easiest ways to kill people, what the holidays mean and about sex and stuff." Cooper's face was turning red at the last.

"Are you with the people or person who attacked Vin and I?" If this man was a danger she wanted to know.

"No. I don't have any weapons," Cooper admitted. His laser had long ago been drained.

"Are you alone?" Now that the conversation had turned away from genetics the others were looking a lot less confused.

For a moment, Cooper considered lying to the woman. Marine regulations told him to but he couldn't. "No. There's one more." He wasn't going to give up any more information than that, however.

"What's your name?" Sandra asked. It had suddenly occurred to her that she didn't know.

"Cooper Hawkes," was the soft reply.

"Well, Cooper Hawkes," Sandra moved around so she could cut the ropes holding his hands. "My name's Sandra Herring. The others will have to introduce themselves." Chris stepped forward, as if to stop her, as the final strands of the topes separated.

"What are you doing, lass?" Sharpe demanded.

"He's my prisoner. I can release him if I want to." She sounded like a child and she didn't care. "I'm sorry for the way you were treated, Mr. Hawkes." Sandra soaked a piece of bandage with the water from her canteen and dabbed at the bloody nose.

His wrists free, Cooper rubbed gratefully at them to get the blood flowing again. When Sandra touched his nose, he jumped. It hurt.

"You can't take in every stray that comes along," Chris growled.

"Would you rather have him wandering around out there, distracting us from the real threat?" Sandra countered.

"That's why he was tied to the tree," Ezra said helpfully.

"He's a human being. You can't keep him tied up for the rest of his life."

"Are you sure he's human, lass?" Sharpe asked. He hadn't understood a lot of what was said between the boy and Sandra but he did understand 'natural born'.

"Of course he's human." Sandra didn't want any of them doubting that. Cooper Hawkes could not help how he was created. She wasn't going to hold it against him. Unless, of course, he started to practice some of the ways he'd learned to kill humans.

"I'm an invitro," Cooper asserted. Hadn't the woman understood anything he'd told her?

"Yes, I know, Mr. Hawkes. I know that you were created by humans but, they did not give you your soul." Sandra scrubbed at the bloody lip, being a little less careful than she would normally be. Thoughts of the people who would think that it was an okay thing to do made her angry. "Do we have to worry about your friend attacking us to get you back?"

Speechless, Hawkes stared at the woman. Never in his short life, all six years of it, had a natural born indicated that he was anything but a tank. It took him a moment to realize she'd asked him a question. "Ah, I'm not sure. He may leave me here to rot. I wasn't supposed to approach you."

"Then why did you?" Ezra demanded. He didn't like the man, no matter what Sandra said.

"I'm not sure," was all he could manage. Cooper didn't have any idea why he'd ignored orders, at least none that he could put into words. Sandra stayed silent as she finished cleaning the boy's face. The rag was soaked in blood. Pouring more water on it, she wrung it out and turned her attention to the wound on his scalp.

"Are you going to explain what you two were talking about?" Sharpe asked. The girl really was too independently minded. She didn't look to her commanding officer for orders. She simply did what she wanted. He noticed a momentary flash of fear on Hawke's face before he covered it up.

"No," Sandra replied. The wound was jagged but not deep. So long as it was kept clean it should heal.

"Why not?" Chris demanded. He'd moved to the fire to check on Vin. He didn't like what he found.

"I don't want to sound like a snob but you wouldn't understand even if I could find the right words. All I can tell you is that while Cooper wasn't born in the normal way, he is still very much human."

"Are you hurt somewhere else?" Sandra asked Cooper. He was sitting against the tree trunk still. There didn't seem to be any reason to move. Not yet anyway.

"My side," Cooper admitted. The ribs where the gunmen had kicked him burned with every breath.

"Relieving some of your frustrations were you, Mr. Larabee?" Sandra asked as she carefully palpated the boy's side.

"I think I liked you better as a boy," Chris responded. The girl's confidence was slightly unsettling.

Cooper hissed when Sandra found the offending rib. "I don't think it's broken," she informed him. "Unfortunately I seem to have left my tape at home. Just try to be careful, okay?"

"Okay," was the only response Cooper could come up with.

"Could you check on Vin?" Josiah asked.

"Great minds think alike. That's where I was headed," Sandra responded, flashing the older man a quick smile. She paused and offered Cooper a hand up. When he was standing, she moved to the fire and knelt beside the young gunman.

Vin was sweating heavily. His skin was clammy and he was breathing faster than he should have been. "Does it hurt?" she asked him. Not waiting for an answer, she pulled the blanket away from his body and argued with his shirt in an effort to get a look at the burn she'd spied earlier.

"Everywhere," Vin mumbled. As time passed, he felt worse and worse. Every muscle ached and the wound on his chest burned. It hurt to breathe, much less move.

Chris had to help Sandra undo the buckskin shirt so she could get at the large red area that covered most of his chest. "What hurts the most?" He was obviously going into shock and she didn't have a clue what to do for him. There weren't any Shoppers Drug Marts around the corner.

"My chest," Vin muttered. Sandra's fingers were cool against his skin. They felt good. Without thinking, he caught hold of her nearest hand and pressed it on the red area.

"Here, this might work better," Sandra said. She extracted her hand and soaked another rag with water before laying it on the burn. "Where's that tea that Nathan brews?"

"I know where it is," Josiah said. He went to rummage through Nathan's pack.

"I need more blankets," Sandra stated. She left the rag on Vin's chest and pulled the blanket over top of him. It was going to be difficult but she had to keep him warm and monitor his vital signs to make sure he didn't crash on them.

Harper handed Sandra as many blankets as he was able to lay his hands on, with the exception of the captains. Quickly, she wrapped them around Vin, folded the last one and slipped it under his head to use as a pillow. Josiah set about making the tea so all she could do was wait. She hated waiting.


	12. Chapter 12

_Hello! Here's the next instalment. I hope you enjoy it. _

_Thank you for those of you who have been taking the time to review. I LOVE hearing from you!_

_Susanne_

CHAPTER TWELVE

Dark depression was threatening to overwhelm Sandra. She felt so inadequate. She wasn`t sure how she`d live with herself if Vin died simply because she didn't know enough. The captain must have sensed her doubt and shame. He came over to the fire, sat down beside her and rested his good hand reassuringly on her shoulder.

"How's your arm?" Sandra asked. She couldn't remember the last time she'd checked it.

"it hurts some but I think it's doing much better," Sharpe replied. Then he held out the splinted arm so she could see it easier.

Gingerly, Sandra unwound the bandage from the sutures and felt some of her self-confidence come back. Now that the wound had been cleaned out and restitched, it was healing remarkably well. "The splint will have to stay on from about six weeks but otherwise, I think you're going to be fine."

"I had a good doctor."

"Thank you, sir." Wearily, Sandra drew up her knees and rested her head on them.

"Are you all right?" Captain Sharpe asked. He was worried about her and rested his left hand lightly on her upper back.

"I'll be fine. Things are catching up with me, that's all." As much as Sandra hated to cause worry, she was still fighting the dark despair that threatened around her consciousness.

The tea brewed, Josiah silently moved to Vin and helped him to drink some of it.

Feeling out of place, Cooper just kind of wandered around, checking the tent, glancing at the archaic weapons and generally trying to stay out of the way. His head continued to pound dully and his side sent stabbing pains through him in an indeterminate pattern. Mostly, he managed to ignore it. What he had trouble ignoring was the suspicious eyes that followed him everywhere he went.

"What do we do now?" Josiah asked with a bit of impatience. He'd gotten the entire mug of tea into Vin, who was sound asleep.

"The only thing we can, wait," Sandra responded. She was trying desperately to not show weakness. The last thing she wanted to be was a sobbing wreck like the women on old horror movies. Captain Sharpe was still sitting beside her, his hand resting on her back. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to not fall against him and let him hold her tight. "What time is it?"

"One fifteen," Ezra replied after fishing his watch out of his waist coat.

"Do we have anything left for lunch?" when all else failed, depend on routine. Sandra wasn't really hungry. She just needed something to do.

"Some of Perkin's bread. That's about it," Josiah replied. Most of their supplies were running low.

"Hagman, you feel up to hunting?" Sandra asked.

"What about that creature out there, lass?" Harper demanded.

"We'll only hunt in full daylight and in fours. Two people will do the actual hunting. The other two will watch their backs. We'll starve if we only have Perkin's bread to eat." Sandra was bullshitting her way through this. She was hoping that if it was completely without merit someone would tell her. "Unless there's a better idea."

"I'll go with you, lass," Harper stated. While not exactly how the regulations would dictate they act, he recognized the sense in what the girl suggested.

"As will I," Ezra jumped at the chance to get out of camp for a while that didn't require being on watch.

"Be careful," Chris growled. He didn't want them leaving the camp at all, much less hunting.

Through unspoken consent, they headed back in the direction they'd come from, away from the dense forest. Rifles, ammunition, packs, handguns and canteens slung over shoulders, moving as silently as they could, the group made their way cautiously through the forest. Harper and Hagman led the way, being the better hunters, Ezra and Sandra followed behind, alert to everything.

Now that they were moving, doing something constructive, Sandra felt much better. She and Ezra stayed roughly ten feet behind the two riflemen. Far enough away to, hopefully, not scare off prey but close enough to be able to help if the need arose.

The further they went, the sparser the forest became. The wall of fog was still there so they skirted along the forest edge to avoid any contact with the condensed air. They travelled silently, eyes scanning the ground they were covering, the ground to either side and the ground they had all ready covered.

The sun was warm. It felt good on Sandra's skin. A light breeze kept her from getting too warm. What they could see of the sky was blue and cloudless. If it weren't for the creatures waiting to attack them, she might even be enjoying herself.

They'd been walking for over two hours and seen little, a few small animals. Nothing was big enough to feed thirteen people, so they continued on. Just when the group was considering whether to turn back or not before they ran out of sunlight, a herd of elk-like animals wanted out of a stand of bushes. They caught the movement of the humans and froze.

"Steady now," Hagman whispered to the others as he slowly brought his rifle up and aimed down the barrel. Beside him, Harper was doing the same with his Baker rifle. The seven barrel rifle had been left in camp.

The shots barked across the long clearing and two of the animals dropped. The others scattered as soon as the scent of blood reached them. "Nice shot," Ezra whistled in appreciation.

The riflemen didn't reply as they quickly covered ground to reach the twitching antelope. With practiced ease, they dispatched the animals and began slaughtering them. Ezra and Sandra stood watch, Sandra desperately ignoring what they were doing. Her vegetarian instincts were appalled by the blood and gore. She would do what she had to survive. It didn't mean she had to like it.

From the fog wall, a quarter mile away, a loud inhuman shriek erupted. Startled, Sandra jumped and turned toward the sound. Seeing nothing, she returned her attention to the forest to her right.

The animals were skinned and butchered in just over half an hour. The choicest parts were slung in bags the riflemen had thought to bring with them. Then large sections were cut from the carcasses. What was left was carefully buried and stones were laid on top. They would have to come back for what was left. The meat was distributed among the four people, Harper shouldering the largest load, Sandra the smallest. Even then, she was carrying an extra sixty pounds.

The trek back to camp, while uneventful, took longer than it had the first time. The weight of the packs slowed them down but also, the continued loud cries from the forest around them made the party more wary and cautious. Fear played at the edges of Sandra's thoughts, she barely kept herself from jumping with each new call. The others were being similarly affected. They were just better at hiding it. She thought that it would be easier if she had something to shoot at, a face to attach to the awful sounds but, as yet, they hadn't seen the animal responsible.

The sun had disappeared behind the forest canopy by the time the party finally reached the camp. Perkins had met them at the perimeter, grinning broadly. The longer the hunting party had been gone, the more he'd worried about them.

"We'll save you some meat, Perkins," Harper told him as they trudged past. Now that they were safe, Sandra felt the long trek catch up with her. All she wanted to do was curl up in her blanket and sleep fro a while. Even the hardened soldiers like Hagman dropped his bag and wearily sank to the ground beside the fire.

"Have any luck?" Vin asked. He was sitting near the fire, his blanket wrapped tightly about his shoulders.

"Some," Harper replied, laconically. Grinning happily, he added his bag to the other three and joined his fellow hunters by the fire.

"Who gets to cook?" Ezra asked, carefully removing his boots.

"I will," Harris volunteered.

Upon hearing the voices, Captain Sharpe came out of the tent where he'd been resting. He was finally feeling more like himself. The arm only ached if he tried to use his hand too much and most of the weakness was beginning to pass. Now that the hunting party was back, he felt better still. Coming out to the fire, he watched as Harris quickly sorted through the meat in the bags. He chose some for supper and others to be smoked or made into jerky. Satisfied the Irishman set about cooking.

"Did you see anything out there?" the captain asked, in an effort to hide his relief.

"No, sir, we didn't but we sure heard something, so we did," Harper replied.

Sandra was grateful to be off her feet and at least relatively safe but she grimaced when she saw the shape of Ezra's feet. He really did need to get a more comfortable pair of footwear before he was unable to walk any more. They were bloody with blisters. She drank some of the water from her canteen and then offered it to the gambler.

"Why, thank you, my lady," Ezra replied as he accepted the canteen and took deep swallows before he handed it back.

Rummaging around in her pack, Sandra came up with two bandages. "You may want to clean those blisters before they get infected," she suggested as she handed him back the canteen and the bandages. "And Ezra, please don't call me 'lady', you never know who might be listening."

"Point taken." Grimacing, the blond gambler soaked one of the bandages and tentatively applied it to the largest blister on his left foot.

"Where's Cooper?" Sandra asked. She had a strong impulse to go side beside the captain but she also knew it to be a juvenile response. She wanted to feel safe and protected. Instead, she pulled her rifle to her and meticulously inspected it to make sure it would fire when she needed it.

"Right here," the young invitro said as he came from the far side of the tent, which was now in darkness. The sun had been overtaken by the night and had vanished over the horizon. Worry darkened his handsome face. Wearily, he folded his tall frame beside Sandra at the campfire. He still wasn't too sure about the hardened soldiers and gunmen.

"You look like you lost your best friend," Sandra stated. Satisfied that the rifle would fire when needed, she turned her attention to the young man beside her.

At first, Cooper looked blank. Then understanding brightened his features. "I was thinking about the colonel," he admitted. While the hunting party had been gone, he'd tried to slip away back to the cave to check on McQueen but Chris had caught him. He'd turned back in embarrassment. He was supposed to be a marine and had been outsmarted by a gun fighter.

"We'll go check on him tomorrow," Sandra stated. She wasn't nearly as positive as she sounded.

"If he'll let us."

OOOOO

Within the hour, supper was cooked and eagerly being eaten by the people around the fire. The last of Perkin's bread was portioned out and two plates were set aside for the men on guard duty. Chris, Harris and J.D. had returned from a reconnaissance of their area of the forest a few minutes before the food was ready. Even Vin and the captain managed to eat their fair share. For her part, Sandra kept seeing the animals' large, curious eyes and graceful walk and had to force down the few mouthfuls she was able to chew. Mostly, she ate the bread.

The sounds from the trees were back to normal, birds and large animal calls, nothing like the cries the hunters had heard before. Now that she was fully, relatively, Sandra felt tired but intuitively, she knew that it was still early, too early to go to bed. Besides, she may be expected to go on watch. She hoped not.

A twig snapped behind Ezra on the other side of the fire. A white face topped by white hair appeared out of the darkness. "Colonel," Hawkes said, relieved. Carefully, he gained his feet and tried not to grimace as pain blossomed in his side.

Startled, the others jumped up and aimed their weapons at the ghost. There was suspicion in the man's bright, blue eyes and maybe a little fear, his voice surprisingly deep, when he spoke. There was a strange looking weapon in his hand. "Are you all right, Hawkes?" he asked, trying to watch all of them at the same time.

"Yes, sir." Cooper didn't feel like going into detail at the moment. Besides, everything wrong with him would heal.

"Who are you?" Chris demanded. It disconcerted him that the man had been able to sneak by the pickets and then get this close to them.

"I came to see how Hawkes is doing. I see that his treatment wasn't entirely hospitable." The cuts and bruises on the young invitro's face were evident even in the inadequate firelight.

"Fear of the unknown," Sandra stated simply. It didn't excuse what Chris had done, but it helped to explain it.

"I'm all right, sir," Hawkes asserted. "It was a misunderstanding."

"We're leaving," the colonel ordered.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Sharpe responded. The man was dangerous, but he'd rather keep him somewhere he could keep an eye on him. "There're creatures in the forest that fire beams of light."

"I know, I've seen them," the older man stated. He'd spent most of the day avoiding the green-furred beasts. They cornered him twice and nearly caught him but he'd managed to escape. Safety in numbers seemed like a good idea, until he'd seen the state of the younger invitro's face and the way he moved showed some damaged ribs that he hadn't had before. He was exhausted beyond anything he could remember. All he wanted to do was curl up somewhere and sleep. However, he was a marine and would not allow the weakness to show. "Is he being held against his will?"

"No," Chris stated. "If you want to take him and go, you're more than welcome. But, you're also welcome to stay. We're running ourselves ragged trying to keep watch. We need as many bodies as we can get." He didn't trust either of them but he wouldn't mind knowing where they were.

The colonel calmly took in each person sitting at the fire, his eyes paused longer on Sandra than the others but she refused to back down. Before he had a chance to reach a decision fog crashed down on them.

Startled, the ground individually rose to their feet. "Where did this come from?" Hawkes asked. In his time here, he hadn't seen the fog until now.

"I think it's been following us," Harris stated. Instinctively, the riflemen and gunmen moved closer together. Near Vin who had fallen asleep after supper.

"Be careful," Harper warned when the colonel had backed away. He could barely see the older man. "We'll lose you in the fog, so we will. That's what happened to Taylor, Bean and Caulfield."

"What about Perkins and the others?" Captain Sharpe wanted to know.

"They're probably lost."

"I'll go look for them," Ezra and J.D. said almost in unison.

The fog was thick. So much so that Sandra could barely see two feet in front of her. All sound was dampened. Unconsciously, she'd moved to stand beside Captain Sharpe, afraid to be separated from him. If she'd been aware of her actions, she would have been thoroughly disgusted with herself.

"They'll make their way in, if they can. We can't take the chance of you getting lost too."

The last time the fog had come, they'd been able to see it advancing. The darkness, the trees and foliage had prevented them from even having a clue that it was coming.

"What about the creatures?" Sandra asked. Her skin was crawling. She wanted desperately to run in the direction they'd been travelling. Her hand tightened convulsively around her rifle. Try as she might, she couldn't keep the fear off her face.

"We're all sleeping around the fire tonight," Chris ordered. The suddenness of the fog set his nerves on edge. "Harper and J.D. will take the first watch, Harris and me the second, Sandra and Hawkes the third, and Ezra and the colonel the fourth. If there's any change, we'll move out in the morning."

A brief foray to the tent to retrieve the blankets inside and to tear it down to be used as blankets since Hawkes and the colonel had none. Then they were crowded around the fire again, tearing the canvas into usable portions.

The captain was asleep quickly, his wounds still bothering him. Vin didn't stir at all. Protectively, Sandra spread her blanket between the two of them, there was just enough room, and settled in until her turn at watch. Her rifle was on the ground beside her, a rag wrapped around the firing pan to keep the moisture out. The others gradually found their places near the fire. As she drifted off to sleep, Sandra became aware of someone lying down beside her. Fear reared and she nearly jumped out of her skin before she rolled onto to her back to find Hawkes, his back toward her. He'd positioned himself between her and the impenetrable fog. She hated that the men still felt the need to protect her. She felt perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Hopefully, with time, their lack of confidence would change. Rolling back onto her side so she faced the fire, Sandra gradually fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

_Thank you for the wonderful reviews. I'm so glad you're enjoying this story. I thought it might be too far out there!!! This one's short but the next one will be better and it won't take me so long to get it to you. Honest!_

_Susanne_

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Sandra." Someone was shaking her shoulder. Instantly awake, she reached for her rifle and threw the blanket off her body. Then she realized that it was Harris crouched beside her.

Shivering in the cold, damp air, Sandra gained her feet and took a quick look around. "Anything going on?" she asked. She paused long enough to retrieve her blanket, shake it out and wrap it around her shoulders.

"No. We haven't heard anything, not even the others on watch."

Sandra could see sadness reflected in the Irishman's pale eyes. She missed Perkins too, not to mention Buck, Josiah and Nathan.

"You can take my spot. Keep an eye on them," Sandra suggested as she gently nudged Cooper in the back with her foot. Satisfied that the growling invitro was awake, she quickly checked the captain and Vin. Harris settled himself in the space available between the two men and fell asleep.

Looking rumpled and less than thrilled, Cooper had gotten to his feet, his piece of canvas wrapped about him, and was looking to Sandra for directions. If anything, the fog had gotten worse while they'd slept, reducing their world to two feet beyond the light of the campfire.

"I'll take this side," Sandra said as she cautiously stepped over Harris's sleeping body. "You take the other. Stay as close as you can, it's too easy to get lost. Just keep your ears open."

Turning her back to the fire, Sandra prepared herself to watch and wait.

OOOOO

The night passed uneventfully. But once the darkness receded, the urgency to start moving could not be denied. The fog had disappaited slightly. They could now see approximately five to six feet in front of them.

The wounded, Captain Sharpe, Vin and Lieutenant Hawkes were examined to make sure they could travel. Vin was stronger than he had been the day before but he still wasn't up to full speed. Captain Sharpe was much stronger but he also would tire quickly. Hawkes, despite his ribs, was in very good health and would be able to go where they asked him.

There was a heated discussion between Harper, Chris and J.D. on whether or not to search for the missing men. The big Irishman won. He'd just about lost the rest of his men the last time he'd search after Taylor and the others had gone missing. Even for Perkins, he wasn't willing to take the chance.

Tempers still simmering, the group headed out, toward the pond Sandra and the others had bathed in earlier to fill canteens and to find the cave the two marines had been living in. The horse had also disappeared in the fog.

Shifting her pack so it sat better on her shoulders and back, Sandra concentrated on staying up with Hagman, Chris and J.D. who led the way. Captain Sharpe was to her left, Hawkes was to her right. The riflemen were accustomed to walking two men abreast but the fear of losing each other in the fog necessitated walking in three's. Behind Sandra's row, Vin, Ezra and the colonel kept pace. Harris and Harper stayed close but didn't keep to any one position.

Fifteen minutes into the trek, Hagman began to get nervous. They should have reached the pond ten minutes before. The riflemen were aware of the problem but kept their mouths shut.

The terrain they covered was open, the trees and underbrush receding into the fog. The birds, insects and other animal life they'd become accustomed to hearing had also vanished with the fog. The temperature was still warm but the dampness in the air made it feel colder.

Hours passed. There was little talk among the group. There wasn't much to comment on, the landscape was obscured by fog and the ground had become level and sandy. It reminded Sandra of a never ending sound stage. Her ears ringing in the silence, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, watching Hagman's back in front of her and keeping her rifle as dry as possible.

OOOOO

The next three days were pretty much the same. In the ever present fog they were all soaked to the skin b the first afternoon. The only way the group kept track of time was with Ezra's watch. There didn't appear to be any difference between night and day, just a constant haze.

One the second day, the group found a small stream, just big enough to fill their canteens and drink their fill. After a brief debate, they decided to follow the stream. It was the only landmark they'd found thus far. Sandra was grateful that it proved that they weren't walking in circles.

OOOOO

The fourth day started much the same as the last three, Harper and Ezra rousing the others half an hour before their departure time. Vin had recovered completely from his brush with the aliens and Hawkes was having fewer problems with his ribs. The colonel was beginning to feel as comfortable with the others as the lieutenant had apparently before. His initial welcome was forgotten.

The captain, however, was finding the dampness extremely uncomfortable. The sutured wound, while healing, itched incessantly. When he scratched at it, the sutures pulled, causing little welts of blood to come up. The splint had a tendency to loosen, the binding letting go. The knitting bones ached whether the bindings were tight enough or not. Angrily, he gritted his teeth against both annoyances and forced himself to his feet. There was no wood of any kind so the night had been wet and cold despite Sandra and Harper sleeping on either side of him. Wearily, he pulled a piece of dried meat out of his pack and tastelessly chewed on it.

Groaning softly, Sandra gained her feet and then stretched her protesting body until it stopped. Her jeans nearly fell down around her ankles before she caught them. She'd known she'd lost weight, but not that much. Using a thin strip of bandage, she fed it through two of the belt loops and then pulled the bandage tight. It wasn't great but it would keep them up. A quick swig of water and a piece of jerky and she was assuming her place in the small column. Fervently, she wished for a tooth brush and a shower. Then they were moving.

OOOOO

Midway through the morning, a sound penetrated the fog. It wasn't a sound any of them wanted to hear. Out in the swirling mists, the creatures growled and snarled. At first the noise was muffled, hard to distinguish. Then it became more distinct as they moved closer.

It sounded like the hounds of hell sweeping down on them or at least Sandra thought so. Taking a defensive position since there was nowhere to go, the group formed a square as best they could, with Captain Sharpe in the middle. With his splinted arm, he couldn't use his sword or load his rifle.

Fear threatening to overwhelm her sense, Sandra gripped her rifle in one hand, the rag in the other, ready to pull it off. She searched the fog frantically for a target. Beside her, J.D. shifted restlessly, eager to get on with it. He was young, so very young, and she felt so old just looking at him.

The snarling grew louder and was accompanied by the sound of running feet. The fog disappaited just long enough to reveal a man charging hell bent toward them. Two of the furry creatures snapped at his heels. Upon seeing the group, the man stumbled in surprise and nearly fell before regaining his footing and continued on.

"Steady," Chris breathed. He and Harper were facing the onslaught. The blond gunman was talking more to himself than the hardened soldier.

The man had nearly reached them when the front creature gave a great leap and landed on his back, bringing him down like so much prey. The beast reared its massive head, sharp fangs bared, as it prepared to sink them into the man's neck and shoulder. The head had begun its downward arc when Chris's handgun barked.

It was a direct hit. The creature barely reacted, however, intent as it as on ripping the man apart. He scrambled under the great weight of the creature, desperate to get away.

The seven barrel gun roared. The creature spun away from the man, screeching in pain. Then it turned back. The man let out a muffled scream as the fangs sank into his shoulder. Hagman broke rank, knelt and fired his rifle. The round shot burst forward, smashing through the creature's left eye straight into its brain. It collapsed, limbs twitching.

The second creature skirted the first and headed for the group. Hagman had returned to his position, frantically reloading. Shots rang out as it circled around the square, snarling at the bullets as they bit into its hide but it didn't stop.

To her left, where Hawkes stood on his edge of the square, Sandra heard an odd sound. Then she realized it was his handgun firing. Desperately, she fired her own rifle, aiming at what she figured had to be its heart. Then she was reloading as J.D. emptied first one gun and then the other into the creature.

With the last of its life, the creature threw itself at Sandra and J.D., biting and clawing as it died. Somehow, Sandra's bayonete was in her hand and she was hacking and slashing at the beast with it as it barrelled into her. Her hand was covered in warm blood. She grunted as she lashed up and down.

The creature's right claw gouged her left side, sending flashed of pain through her. The left claw lashed out at J.D., catching him across his chest and arm. Both of them collapsed under the beast's weight as it landed on them. It heaved one last, explosive breath and then was still.

The others were on them instantly, pulling at the carcass. It was heavier than it looked. Sandra was having trouble taking a breath as was J.D. beside her.

"Are you all right?" She thought it was Chris asking but she couldn't be sure. Sounds were muffled under the massive, hairy body.

Amid much grunting and heaving, the men managed to get the body off of them. At first all Sandra could see was dark fur. It was in her mouth and her nose, making breathing even harder. Beside her, she could feel J.D. shift. Her hand was resting against his back. In the final moments, the young man had twisted, leaving his legs straight and his trunk on his right side.

Then the weight was lifted off and she could breathe cool, clean air. The pain in her side renewed its awful dance. Ignoring it, she tried to go to J.D. to check his injuries. "Stay still, lass," Harper hissed at her.

With a gentleness starting from such a large man, Harper pulled the shredded jacket and shirt away from the long, deep gashed the creature had left in her side. Gritting her teeth, Sandra went still. It felt like red hot pokers were being held against her flesh. In an attempt to ignore the agony, she turned her eyes away from the Irishman's worried face to stare at the sky above her.

The fog was slowly letting up. Sandra was convinced she saw a piece of blue sky beyond the gray clouds. Harper gave a tug on a particularly deep piece of cloth. Darkness descended on Sandra like a heavy, black velvet curtain and the pain was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

_Hi! As always, I'm sorry this took so long. Unfortunately with summer here (well, kind of, maybe, despite all the rain.) I might not be updating very often but I'll definitely try! I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a little slow but we can't have action all the time!_

_'Ray' is Father Ray from 'Nothing Sacred', a tv show a few years back. He's played by Kevin Anderson and his character is a Roman Catholic priest.  
_

_Susanne_

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A moment later, or so it seemed to her, Sandra came around. The pain was the first thing she became aware of. With a force of will, she pushed it away from her. Suddenly afraid that there may be more if the great, furry monsters, her eyes flew open and she tried to get her arms under her enough to sit up.

Strong hands pinned her to the ground and Harper's face was floating over her. "You're safe, lass," he stated. The worry was evident in every line of Harper's face. She imagined she was hurt much worse than she'd thought.

Gingerly, Sandra ran her fingers over her side to inspect the damage. All she could find aside from fire blossoms of pain was thick swaths of bandage.

"How bad is it?" Sandra asked. The pain didn't really tell her much. She was having difficulty identifying degrees.

"Bad enough, lass," Harper responded. The big man kept his face carefully neutral.

"Great," Sandra breathed. "How's J.D.?" She and Harper seemed to be alone in the universe. Dimly, she could just barely make out the sounds of the others moving around beyond them

"He's lying over there, so he is. The wounds aren't nearly as deep as yours." Harper motioned to her right.

Movement in the corner of her eye. Carefully, Sandra turned her head to the left and watched as Harris and Chris lay the dark haired stranger two feet away from her. The man's head lolled on his neck, unconscious. They laid him on his stomach and Harris began cutting through the man's coat to get at the bite wound.

"How are you feeling?" Captain Sharpe settled down beside Sandra, between her and J.D.

"Like I've been run over by a dump truck," Sandra responded, smiling at the confusion that crossed over Sharpe's handsome face. "It hurts like the blazes but I'll live."

"We're staying here for the night, maybe longer," Sharpe stated.

"I thought I'd seen the sky before. Is the fog letting up?" Sandra wanted to know.

"Some. It comes and goes."

"Here, lass, try to eat." Harper handed her some dried meat. Accepting it, Sandra cautiously chewed on the first piece. She doubted that anyone here other than herself knew the Heimlich manoeuvre so she didn't want to choke.

"Here." Hagman had appeared out of nowhere, a blanket tucked under one arm. Withdrawing it, he covered Sandra up careful to make sure it covered her completely.

Sleep was threatening to overtake her. It was a welcome oblivion. The pain refused to be ignored any longer. The meat slipped from Sandra's nerveless fingers.

"How is she, Pat?" Sharpe asked. He was greatly concerned for the girl. What he'd seen of the wound was ghastly.

"Harris said she'll be fine, sir," Harper reassured him. "She'll have some nasty scars, she will. But so long as the cuts are kept clean, she and J.D. will heal nicely."

"What about the other man?" Sharpe asked.

"I don't know, sir. But it doesn't look good." Harper shuttered at the memory.

Harris was working feverishly on the man. He kept wishing that Sandra could help him. He felt out of his depth. The wounds were deep and jagged. There was a lot of blood. He was having trouble seeing into the depths. Desperately, Harris pushed a piece of bandage into the first of the four gashes.

"I need help," Harris said to the others. Under his fingers, the man stirred. A soft groan came from him Then he went completely stiff as the pain registered.

Hagman and Vin came over to join him. "You've been injured," Harris said to the man. The stranger had wavy brown hair cut just below his collar. "What's your name?"

"Ray," was all he could get out between the waves of pain. He was having trouble remembering exactly what had happened to him. Darkness was descending again.

"What can we do?" Vin asked, glancing down at the man

"I need light," Harris stated. "I have a candle in my pack I also need bandages and water" The piece he was using was soaked through with blood.

"I don't know about the water, but we'll get the other things you need," Hagman stated. The he was off. Vin settled down beside Ray and handed the Irishman a clean bandage from the dwindling pile.

"It looks bad," the buffalo hunter stated. The beast had sunk its two top canines and bottom canines into the man's shoulder, leaving two jagged puncture wounds in the front of the shoulder and one deeper wound in the back where the tooth had nearly passed through to the other side. The second tooth had grazed along the shoulder blade, leaving a shallow, long gash that could easily be cleaned and stitched The man's sides had been clawed at but the wounds weren't as deep as J.D.'s and Sandra's, the beast had simply wanted to hold his prey still.

"Is Sandra awake?' Harris asked, hoping.

"No, I don't think so." Vin could see the fear and panic in the pale blue eyes "You can do this." He placed a reassuring hand on the Irishman's shoulder.

"Where do we start?" Vin asked.

"I have to get the bleeding stopped." Harris took some deep, steadying breaths

"I can do that," Vin volunteered, taking the bandage from Harris, placing it on the wound and applying pressure.

"I'll clean the other wounds." With the small amount of water left in his canteen, Harris began wiping at Ray's right side.

OOOOO

It took a long time but Harris was finally satisfied with the work he'd done. Wearily, he wiped a trembling hand across his face and sat down beside Ray.

"You did good," Vin observed. He and Hagman had helped as much as they could but Harris had been in charge. Ray hadn't come around again, which was just as well given the circumstances.

"Thank you," Harris replied. Tired, he curled up beside the wounded man and fell into a light sleep. While they'd been helping the Irishman, Chris had been setting up piquets and going through the supplies to see what they had for supper. It wasn't a pretty picture. Most of the canteens were nearly empty and the dried meat was becoming scarce.

"Well, I suppose we could butcher one of the monsters," Chris suggested to Harper and Sharpe. Ezra was ceaselessly circling the camp, giving the sounds of fur as wide a birth as possible without getting lost in the fog. The colonel and Hawkes were attempting to do a reconnaissance of the area but the younger invitro had nearly gotten lost twice so far. The fog had receded. They could now see over twenty feet but after that it go thick again

"I think I'd rather starve," Sharpe responded, his hand resting protectively on Sandra's shoulder. She hadn't awaken again, worrying the rifleman captain greatly J.D. was cautiously sitting up, his main complaint a throbbing head from when he'd hit the ground

"I'm with him," Harper agreed. Just the thought of the creatures sent a shiver down his spice. They had a savagery that surpassed that Captain Sharpe's and of his own battle rage. That alone was enough to to make him nervous. The way they seemed to come out of nowhere, silently, was also spooky

"Then we'll have to move on, the sooner the better." Chris didn't want to be anywhere near the carcasses. They may draw more creatures to them.

"Harper, you're going to have to carry that one," Sharpe said, indicating Ray. "Hagman and Harris will help Sandra."

"I'd rather carry the lass, sir." Harper didn't usually question his captain's orders but the way the creatures seemed to be drawn to the girl made him want to stay close.

"The other is injured worse than Sandra is and you're the strongest one here." The captain sympathized with his sergeant but he had to be practical.

"Aye, sir." The large Irishman pushed his body off the ground and headed for where Harris and Ray lay.

"How are you, J.D.? Do you need help?" Chris asked He offered the captain a hand up, who reluctantly accepted and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"It only hurts when I laugh," J.D. responded. Chris stepped over to him and pulled the younger man to his feet as well.

"Then don't laugh."

"I can walk but I don't know for how long." J.D.'s bravado suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea as the earth tilted slightly beneath his feet.

"Whoa." Chris caught J.D. just before he fell forward. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just a little woozy," J.D. admitted.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Ezra volunteered, slipping his hand under the younger man's left elbow.

"Thanks," Chris responded. That was one thing off his list of things to worry about

Hawkes and the colonel were just walking into their impromptu camp. "The fog is letting up to our left. It's still thick everywhere else," McQueen stated. His eyes quickly took in the wounded and teh efforts to make them mobile.

"It's as good a direction as any," Chris said. Harris and Hagman had been trying to pick Sandra up some way that wouldn't aggravate her wounds. Quietly, Hawkes walked over to them and casually picked the woman up like she was a sleeping child. He wasn't sure how long he could carry her but he wasn't going to give up. Harper was similarly holding the unconscious Ray.

"Lead the way, colonel," Chris suggested. Now that Hawkes was in charge of Sandra, Harris and Hagman could maintain a perimeter while they walked.

"Is everyone ready?" McQueen asked. This group was beginning to look more and more like a desperate retreat from a battle ground. Those that could respond did so in the affirmative. As slowly as he cared, Colonel McQueen set out, the others following along behind.

OOOOO

The travelling was slow, slower than it had been before. Harper and Hawkes had to rest more and more often as the miles melted away.

The colonel had been right. They passed out of the fog within two hours of leaving camp. The world they found beyond was very different from the one they'd left. Clearing the fog, they walked onto a grassy, green plain. To their right and to their left were dual slopes, steep but not unscaleable. The sky above was cloudless and a deepening blue. The sun had set ahead of them, a band of gold across the horizon told them as much. A slow moving stream ran its winding course along the right side of the valley, giving rise to small stands of trees and shrubs.

"We'll move farther away from the fog and then set up camp," Chris said. What was going on was beyond him. He'd figure it out later though. Right now his main concern was getting his people safe and as far away from the wall of fog as possible.

Wearily and warily, they set out, enjoying the last rays of the sun despite themselves. After all the time spent in the fog, it felt like heaven.

At two miles distance from the fog wall, Chris called a half. Ezra, Hagman and Harris set about collecting wood for a fire and fresh meat for supper. Hawkes settled Sandra on the ground and quickly wrapped her in her blanket and his. Harper laid Ray down near her and spread his blanket over top of him. Hissing through his teeth, J.D. sank to the ground beside Sandra and rested his head on his drawn up knees. Chris and Vin scouted out the general area. Vin couldn't resist climbing to the top of the nearest slope to see what was on the other side.

"What's up there?" Chris asked when the ex-buffalo hunter skidded to the bottom of the slope and brushed the dust off his buckskin pants.

"More of the same," Vin replied as he set out back toward the camp. "It's flat, very flat."

OOOOO

Camp was set up and four rabbits and two ducks were being roasted over the fire by the time the two men returned. All of the canteens were full and Hagman and Harris were bathing in the stream, Ezra was helping J.D. in so he could wash the wounds on his chest and right arm. The colonel was quietly watching the whole scene from a position about twenty yards out. He wasn't expecting anything to come at them, but just in case, he wanted to keep an eye out.

"How are things going?" Chris asked, pausing beside the older man. He had no idea what the colonel and Hawkes were but if Sandra didn't have a problem with him, he was going to have to trust her judgement.

"Quiet. I'm going to keep watch for the first shift," McQueen stated.

"I'll send someone out to relieve you in four hours," Chris responded as they headed out.

"Thanks," the colonel stated, settling in for a long wait.

"We'll save you some supper," Vin called quietly over his shoulder.

"Anything interesting?" Captain Sharpe inquired He was sitting beside Sandra, overseeing the cooking of the meat.

"Not really," Chris replied. Hagman and Harris returned wearing their second set of clothe, the ones they were wearing before were laid out near the fire to dry. Insects buzzed around them, lazy in the warm night air. The sky above was filled with stars, stars none of the group could identify. That was a terrifying thought for McQueen and Hawkes, who knew the star charts for all of the known galaxies. "How are they doing?"

"I'm fine," Sandra rasped. She'd been awake for the last twenty minutes or so but hadn't had the energy to let anyone know. The pain was incredible. She tried to ignore it as much as possible.

Turning toward her, Sharpe smiled. Relief brightened his face. "I was worried about you."

"We all were, lass," Harper chimed in. He moved across the fire as he could be closer to her, to prove with his own eyes that she was actually awake. Harris was looking at her wounds and checking her vital signs just as he'd seen the woman do time and again.

"Don't, I'm going to live," Sandra stated simply, he voice little more than a whisper. "J.D.? The other guy?"

"J.D.'s going to be all right. Ray we're not so sure about," Harris replied. Sandra looked surprisingly good under her present circumstances.

"The meat's nearly cooked. Are you up for some?" Sharpe asked. He watched as Sandra's eye lids struggled to stay open. Eventually, though, she lost the fight and fell asleep without responding.

OOOOO

When next Sandra was awake, it was daylight. Someone had moved her under a tree. She could see the leaves and branches gently swaying above her head. Under her finger tips she felt the rough material of a blanket. Turning her head away from the tree trunk, she found Ray laying a short distance away, still on his stomach. If she held very still, she could make out his shallow breathing. His shoulder was swathed in bandages. There were dark patches where blood had soaked through. He was wrapped in a blanket. Sandra assumed they had their weapons. Asleep just beyond Ray was J.D, Hawkes and McQueen. Captain Sharpe was keeping watch, his Baker rifle propped against his good shoulder. Where the others were was anyone's guess.

Since Sandra was in pain anyway, she forced body into a seated position. Darkness threatened to overcome her as her side reacted to the sudden movement Gulping air, she refused to give in and made it all the way to her feet. Swaying slightly, she tentatively put her right foot forward. It wasn't too bad so she cautiously covered the distance between the tree and Captain Sharpe.

"What are you doing?" Sharpe demanded when he finally noticed her after a few steps.

"It doesn't hurt as much when I move around." It was the truth. Now that she was up and about, the pain was nearly manageable. "Where is everyone?"

"Hunting or scouting." Sharpe had stood up and was trying to get Sandra to sit down. She resisted, it felt too good to be upright.

"Where's my rifle?" Sandra felt naked without it.

"Hagman cleaned it for you," Sharpe said. He went to the Welshman's bedroll and retrieved the weapon. "Hopefully, you won't need it anytime soon."

"How are you doing?" Gratefully, Sandra accepted her rifle and quickly examined it. Amused, Richard watched her. She was definite proof that women were capable of being good soldiers.

"It aches, but I'll live," Sharpe replied, grinning.

"May I look at your arm?" Now that some of the stiffness was letting up, the pain was easing a bit as well.

Obediently, Captain Sharpe held out his splinted arm for Sandra's inspection. The wound was healed enough that she thought she could remove the stitches if she could find a small enough knife. Her bayonete was far too bulky, she might hack his arm off by accident. "These could come out. Do you have something I could cut these with?"

Sharpe paused to rummage in his pack. Then he produced a small pocket knife that he handed to her.

"Thank you." Carefully, Sandra pulled the first suture away from the skin and slid the tip of the knife under one side and cut. A quick tug and the piece of thread came out easily. In a matter of minutes, she had the last one out.

"There you go. Now we just have the splint to get rid of." Sandra handed Sharpe back his knife.

Any further conversation was pre-empted by the return of Vin, Chris, Ezra and J.D They were carrying what looked like a good sized deer.

"What are you doing up?" Ezra demanded upon seeing Sandra upright and swaying only slightly.

"Would you stop worrying about me? If I feel tired, believe me, I'll lie down." Now, Sandra was beginning to understand how Captain Sharpe felt.

"Okay, okay," Chris said, grinning and holding up his hands in surrender. "You don't have to bite our heads off."

"Point taken. Sorry." Despite her best efforts, Sandra had become very weary. Her pride and stubborn streak made her stand her ground though.

"Who gets the privilege?" Ezra asked, indicating the dead deer.

"I'll do it," Vin volunteered

"Help yourself."

OOOOO

Ten minutes later Sandra had to concede defeat, slowly returned to her blanket and sank. Vin was nearly finished butchering the deer. Sharpe and Chris were cooking the choicest pieces and smoking the rest.

"You all right?" J.D. asked as he settled down beside her in the shade.

"Just tired. Could you do me a favour and move Ray over here? He's going to roast in the sun. Hawkes and the colonel are too."

"Yeah, I see what you mean." J.D. started to stand up when Harper, Harris and Hagman came into camp.

The first thing Harris saw was the meat. The second was Ray. Motioning to Harper, they each caught two ends of the blanket, gently lifted the man off the ground and carried him over to the shade. During the commotion, the colonel and Hawkes woke up and realizing their peril, moved into the shade as well. The sun wasn't as strong as they were used to back home but it was still enough to cause sunburn if left unattended.

Suddenly wide awake, Sandra forced her protesting body over to Ray so she could examine his wounds for the first time.

"He had a fever," Harris explained as he crouched beside Ray. He was grateful that Sandra was feeling well enough to check his work.

"Is there a stream around here?" Sandra asked. Harris had gotten carried away with the bandages. While it was probably a good thing, she was tiring out quickly trying to get through them all.

"Yes," Harris replied. He could see how tired Sandra was becoming so he quickly removed the bandages for her.

"Could you soak some clothes in the water and bring them here? If we keep cold clothes on his forehead or the back of his neck, it should help the fever." Despite the severity of his wounds, the man would probably be just fine. If they could keep the gashes clean and get his fever down. Gently, Sandra rolled Ray onto his uninjured side. Whoever or whatever was gathering them here certainly preferred handsome men. Ray had unruly light brown hair and kind blue eyes. She discovered this when she pulled his eyelids back to check the response of his pupils to light.

"I'll get them," Hagman said and he was off.

"Do we have broth or anything like that?" Not only did Sandra want to get some fluids into the injured man, she was also feeling a bit hungry herself.

"No, but I can make some up right away, so I can," Harper volunteered.

"Thank you," Sandra responded with genuine gratitude. Accepting the rags from Harris, she placed them on Ray's head. Then she sank down beside him and rested her stiffening side. Meanwhile Harper puttered around preparing the broth from some of the deer meat.

It seemed like an instant passed but in reality it was probably over half an hour. Harper was crouched beside Sandra, a mug of broth in either hand. "Here you go, lass. One for you and one for the lad."

"Thank you," Sandra stated. Then she gritted her teeth against the pain as she sat up to drink it.

"You really should be resting, lass," Harper suggested.

"We'll both feel better once we've eaten something." Sandra included Ray in her assessment.

"I hope so, lass. I hope so."

The broth tasted wonderful as it slid down Sandra's parched throat. She drank half the mug before she came up for air. "This is great," she said, smiling at the big Irishman.

"One of my hidden talents, so it is," Harper responded, enjoying the girl's praise.

"That's you all right, Patrick. A man of many talents," Sharpe called from across the camp, laughing quietly to himself.

Harper pretended to not hear the comment and turned his attention to feeding Ray lying on the ground. He finally had to roll the man onto his back and prop him up against his own body so he wouldn't choke on the liquid. It felt odd but it accomplished a goal.

Most of the broth either in him or on him, Harper used one of the damp cloths on his forehead to wipe the liquid off Ray's face. Then he lightly rested his hand on Ray's forehead. He laid him back on his blanket, retrieved the cloths and headed for the river. Ray's fever was still there.

"If the cloths don't work in a couple of hours, take him to the stream and put him in. Wash out the wounds as thoroughly as you can. Leave him there until the cold registers; say his teeth start to chatter. Then dry him off, wrap him up in a blanket and put him by the fire if the temperature has gone down by then," Sandra instructed Harris as her eyes repeatedly fluttered shut. Her stomach satisfied, she'd lain down and was falling asleep.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of him. Now rest," Harris replied, thankful for the information even though it was mostly common sense. Feeling weary himself, Harris settled down between the two wounded and planned to wait.

The meat cooked, Sharpe handed it out to everyone who was awake. Full, he took a piquet position, his rifle slung over his good shoulder, and tried not to fry too badly as he observed the area around them. High in the clear, blue sky, a large bird floated on the wind currents off to his left. It seemed to be completely oblivious to the fog bank and the humans camped out on the valley floor. Sergeant Harper would be able to tell him what kind of bird it was, the big Irishman loved the feathered creatures, if he'd only ask. It didn't seem important though.

The late morning and afternoon was spent putting wet rags on Ray's head and general camp duties. Hagman relieved his captain and took over the watch. He enjoyed watching the multitude of animal life that also inhabited the valley and its slopes, especially since he didn't have to worry about shooting any of it.

Weary and still a little weak, despite his best efforts, the captain picked up a piece of meat, shooed the flies away and went to join Sandra and Harris in the shade. Out in the stream, he could hear Vin and Cooper splashing about as they washed their bodies and their clothes. The colonel was all ready clean as were his clothes and was lazily floating back and forth between the banks. He was careful to make sure he didn't float downstream but otherwise was oblivious to his surroundings.

Ray's fever had gone down slightly during the intervening hours but it was still there. Harris was becoming concerned when Sandra awoke. Quickly, he filled her in on all that had transpired while she was asleep.

"Put him in the water," was all Sandra said.

"Won't it kill him?" Harris asked.

"No, just don't leave him in too long. It'll be a bad sign if his lips or nails turn blue." Sandra smiled at the last statement. Captain Sharpe was sleeping beside her. It felt too good to move. Her wounds had diminished to a dull ache. She hated the thought of waking them up again.

Her eyes closed, Sandra listened as Harris and Vin picked Ray up and carried him down to the river bank. They paused long enough to undress the man, even though there wasn't much left of his jacket and shirt. Harris wanted to make sure he had something dry and warm to wear when they brought him out. He decided to leave the man's strange underclothes on him, then he and Vin picked him up and headed into the stream.

The water was cool, nice after the hot afternoon sun. The stream wasn't deep, four feet at its deepest. They carried the insensate man until the water ran over him but, with Vin bracing his head in his lap, he wasn't in danger of drowning.

Initially, the brown haired head simply lolled in Vin's lap. The man showed absolutely no sign of coming to. "Do you think this is going to work?" Vin asked Harris.

"I don't know. But, I'm willing to try anything at this point." Harris was feeling a little useless as he stood, looking down at Vin, crouched in the water, and Ray.

Minutes slipped by. Vin was becoming chilled. He was wet from the waist down. While he shivered, he became aware that he wasn't the only one. Ray had begun to shiver violently. A small groan escaped his lips. Then Ray stirred weakly against Vin.

"Help me get him out of here," Vin instructed Harris. Grateful to get out of the water, he stood up, pulling the other man up with him, his hands under Ray's armpits.

Ray groaned as pressure was placed on his wounded shoulder. Frantically, he tried to remember where he was, how he'd gotten here and who had hurt him. The answers were not immediately forthcoming. Dimly, Ray became aware through the waves of pain, that he was virtually naked and that he was very cold.

"Lay him here," someone with an Irish accent said from above him. Then he was gently laid down on what felt like a rough blanket and he was looking up into a crystal clear, blue sky and two men's faces. One of the man, the one with the long, curly, red hair, leaned over him and covered him with another blanket.

"Who are you?" Ray's voice came out as a croak.

"Why, I'm Harris, sir. This is Vin Tanner," was the cheerful reply. The water had worked miracles. Harris just hoped that its powers continued. "Would you like something to drink, sir?"

The man had a dignified air about him that immediately set him apart. There was a definite calm there also. Harris couldn't quite put his finger on it as he gazed down on Ray.

"Yes, please." Ray had no memories of this place or these people. The last thing he could remember was lying awake in his bed at St. Thomas's. Where ever he was, it was a long ways from inner city New York City. The air was so fresh, not human refuse, no exhaust fumes. If it weren't for the pain in his left shoulder, Ray could almost believe he was dreaming.

"Where is this place?" Ray asked. Harris had gone out of his line of sight and he had the feeling it would hurt if he moved his head.

"Don't know," Vin stated. "We're all pretty much lost."

"We?" Ray was suddenly feeling very tired. His eyes kept skidding shut.

"There's twelve of us all together, yourself included. There used to be sixteen but we lost some in the fog," Vin responded.

Images flashed through Ray's mind. Fog. Huge, furry monsters. Running like the devil was after him. Ray shook his head in an attempt to dispel the disjointed memories. Pain exploded in his shoulder, ripping a groan from between his chattering teeth.

"You might want to hold still," Vin suggested as he shifted a little closer.

"How did I get here?" Ray managed.

"Harper carried you. We found you in that fog bank." Vin indicated the fog off to his left. "Two creatures were chasing you. You, Sandra and J.D. were injured in the fight to kill them."

"Is Sandra and J.D. all right?" Ray immediately felt guilty that he'd caused other people to be injured Harris had returned with a mug and was carefully propping Ray up so he wouldn't choke on the liquid.

"J.D.'ll be fine in a couple of days. Sandra'll be a couple of weeks," Harris answered. He'd brought some broth for Ray to drink. He figured the man could use more than just water.

The broth in him, his throat feeling less dusty, Ray slipped back to sleep. Harris considered dressing teh man but changed his mind. He decided to let Ray sleep. Exhausted, Harris threw a couple of logs on the fire, laid down a short distance away and quickly joined Ray in slumber.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The evening and the night passed quietly, the only sounds other than crickets, mosquitoes, the occasional howl of a coyote or call of an owl, was soft conversation, Daniel Hagman singing by the fire and challenges when the piquets were changed.

Harris slept. He woke occasionally to check on his charges and then he settled back into his spot and was instantly in the realms of the unconscious. Chris let him rest and ran a rotation for the piquets from the uninjured in their ranks. He, himself, took the midnight to 4 am watch.

While Sharpe was definitely stronger than he had been, he was still not up to keeping watch at night when the others slept. If anything should happen, he'd be able to get off one shot with his Baker rifle, but reloading would be slow and difficult with the splint on his right forearm. McQueen had offered him his weapon but the rifleman was very uncomfortable with it. He half expected it to blow up in his hand and he flinched every time he pulled the trigger. All in all, not a good situation for a piquet to be in.

The other riflemen were also very uncomfortable around the two Marines' weapons. Their workings were beyond their ability to understand. Even Harris, who could grasp the most basic ideas concerning then, felt the weapons to be unnatural and preferred to depend on his rifle. The hand guns that Chris and his people carried were fantastical to them, but at least, the six shooters were something they could wrap their minds around. Even Chris's twin barrelled shot gun that he usually had slung over his shoulder was acceptable to them. Harper sat a short distance from camp, listening to his companions snore and the other night should and watched every shadow.

The night sky was clear, the unfamiliar stars bright and twinkling. Their light was only slightly dimmed by a crescent moon that was slowly sinking below the horizon. Someone moved in the camp. A few minutes later Daniel came to join him.

"Is it time?" Harper asked. Out in the darkness he tended to lose track.

"Near enough, I expect," Hagman replied. He couldn't sleep anyway so the big sergeant might as well get some.

"What do you make of all this?" he asked the older man. Captain Sharpe hadn't been well enough to discuss much of anything and he felt the need to talk to someone.

"Make of what, sir?"

"What happened to the rest of the army? Perkins? What are those walls of fog?" His mind went blank as he tried to process all of the events that had happened in the last two weeks.

"Oh, that sir," Hagman said. He paused while he considered things. He missed the incredulous look his sergeant gave him.

"You know that game? The one with the black and white board and you move the pieces?" Hagman asked.

"You mean chess?" Harper responded with his own question.

"That's the one. I keep having the feeling that someone is moving us around a big board. The land changes as we are sent from one square to another. The fog is the border between the squares." It made perfect sense to the old Welshman.

"Who's moving the pieces?" Harper wanted to know.

"Someone we haven't seen yet? Or the animals that shot Vin. They didn't seem to want Hawkes approaching us."

"So we're back to being soldiers again. Only we don't know what kind of war we're supposed to be fighting or where it is, so we don't." The thought was not a happy one and definitely not one he wanted to fall asleep thinking about. "God save Ireland."

A coyote howled in the distance. A shiver ran up the big Irishman's spine. He stood up and headed into camp. He had a strong sense that he was under close scrutiny. Uncomfortable, he laid near his captain with his back to the fire and his seven barrel gun under his left hand.

OOOOO

She was hot. Sweat was prickling through her scalp and running down her sides. It was the first thing Sandra was aware of. The next thing was that the sun was beating down on her skin.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes and was dazzled by the bright light. "Ah," Sandra moaned as she covered her eyes with her right hand.

"Good morning." The voice belonged to Chris.

"Nothing like a rude awakening," Sandra muttered. Slowly, she rolled onto her right side and then onto her stomach. Tentatively, she rose to her hands and knees. It took some doing but eventually, she got to her feet.

"There's meat, bread and a root Hagman dug up cooking on the fire. It should be done in about twenty minutes," Chris stated.

"I need to take a bath," Sandra stated in return. It felt like her entire body was covered by a thick layer of sweat, her hair felt like it could stand on its own. She desperately wanted to get clean. "Where did my pack wind up?"

"It's here." Vin handed the pack to her and watched while she gingerly searched through its contents until she came up with her set of clean clothes.

"Thank you," Sandra said as she climbed to her feet, shook out her blanket and headed for the stream. Self consciousness was going by the wayside. She had no desire to wait until dark to get clean.

"Here's the soap," Vin offered once she'd reached the river bank.

"Thank you again." Cautiously, Sandra began to undress. She sat on a rock and struggled to get her runners untied and off her feet.

"Do you need any help?" Sandra was trying to untie her shoes with one hand because it hurt too much to use her left arm.

Her knee-jerk reaction was to say no. Sandra hated to admit she needed help, especially if she did. But, it hurt too much to bend as far as she had to to reach her shoes. "If you don't have anything else to do." Was the only response she could come up with.

"Not at the moment." Vin tried to hide the smile playing on his lips a she knelt down in front of Sandra and pulled at the laces. They were odd. The stringers were round and looked to be more than one strand woven tightly together. As soon as the laces were undone, Sandra pried her left shoe off with her right toes and vice versa. She couldn't stand the thought of someone else taking her shoes off for her. It was far too intimate and subservient an image for her.

"Thank you." Sandra brought her left let up far enough to pull her sock off, ignoring the pain that ripped through her side. The same happened to the right sock. The left sleeve of her jacket came off easily enough. She was steeling herself for getting the right sleeve off when Vin caught hold of it and slipped it over her arm.

"You're welcome," Vin said before Sandra could say her customary response. He stared at her t-shirt having never seen that type of material before. He was trying to figure out how to get it off without causing too much discomfort.

It took some doing and more help than Sandra would have liked but she got out of her sweaty clothes and slipped into the cool, slow moving water. In her precious life, Sandra wouldn't have dreamed of bathing naked in a river with eleven men in plain view. In this life, she had only minor qualms about it and they were quickly squashed by her yearning to be clean.

Gratefully, Sandra sank until she was submerged up to her shoulders and luxuriated in the sensations of the water and warm sun. Vin had stayed on the river bank and was cheerfully washing her abandoned clothing.

"You don't have to do that," Sandra called to him. It actually embarrassed her that he was doing her laundry.

"This way I can keep an eye on you and not actually watch you," Vin responded.

"Still, you don't have to wash my clothes." The water felt good on the gashed on Sandra's side. She'd pulled the bandages off on her way into the water. The pieces of cloth streamed out from her right hand. No use wasting them.

"It gives me something to do. Here's the soap." Vin threw the bar across the water to her. Raising her hand, Sandra caught it without a second thought. Startled, she stared at the soap in her hand. In her other life, she would have missed in. Grinning, she began washing the layers of sweat and grime away.

OOOOO

Feeling like a million bucks, Sandra stepped onto the river bank. She revelled in the sun on her skin, the grass between her toes and the new slimness of her body. The side was virtually forgotten as she accepted her blanket that Vin handed her without looking up.

"Thank you," Sandra said, drying off quickly and pulling her dry clothes on. She had to get Tanner to help her with her shoes. Teaching him to tie the shoelaces was amusing. Then they headed back to the campsite where food waited for them.

OOOOO

The afternoon was spent relaxing, checking weapons and gathering wood. Vin and Hagman had struck an easy friendship and walked away from camp intent on surveying their domain. Sharpe, Chris and Harper were trying to decide what to do. Harris helped J.D. into the river to clean out his wounds.

"How are you feeling?" Sandra asked. Ignoring her own pain, she was kneeling beside Ray, having just finished examining his wounds.

"Terrible but better." At least Ray was able to stay awake for longer periods of time and the pain was nearly bearable. "You're not one of them."

The statement took Sandra aback for a split second. "No, no I'm not," she finally replied.

"Where are you from?" Ray seemed to be trying to divert his attention from his injuries. His breathing was shallow and laboured.

"Little city on the prairies called Moose Jaw. I wish I could help with the pain but I seem to have left my Tylenol at home." Sandra didn't expect him to catch the joke. None of the others would have.

"How about some aspirin?" Ray would give anything for a couple of white tablets right now. He almost missed the stunned look on the girl's face.

"Where are you from? What year?" Hope was burning through Sandra. Maybe here was someone from her own time.

"New York. 1998." Ray supposed the questions made sense. He just couldn't see it. "Why?"

"It's just nice to find someone who might get my jokes." Sandra smiled at him. "I'm sorry. I never really introduced myself, did I? Sandra Gifford, formerly of Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, ex-bowling alley employee."

"Ray." He gasped as a shard of pain went through his shoulder. "Roman Catholic priest, St Thomas in New York," he continued through clenched teeth.

"Well, I'll not hold it against you so long as you don't hold my lack of faith in any organized religion against me. In the meantime, let's try to find a more comfortable position for you." Sandra found the situation odd. She'd never met a priest before. At least not one she was aware of. As carefully as she was able, Sandra helped Father Ray onto his good side and used blankets to prop up his head. "is that better?"

"Yes." The relief in pressure had greatly reduced the pain.

"Here's some broth." Sandra helped him into a seated position so he could drink easily. "Do you feel up to something more substantial?"

"Yes." Ray was having a little trouble reconciling where he'd been with where he currently was.

Sandra stood up and went over to the fire. Ray watched her as she cut a chunk off the leg roasting on the fire and dropped it on a plate. She was all strength and hard edges. What fat she'd had upon appearing here was pretty much gone. She carried herself with a self-confidence that he found reassuring and slightly daunting.

The clothes Sandra was wearing were from his time, at least the shoes and jeans were. The green jacket hanging near the fire that she checked before coming back toward him marked her as one of the other four men but he doubted she'd started that way.

"Here," Sandra said as she handed the plate to Ray. "Don't worry about proper etiquette, just use your hands."

"I think you're bleeding." The left side of Sandra's white linen shirt was turning a bright red.

"Damn it," Sandra swore, tentatively glancing at her shirt. "Sorry, father."

Sandra's face turned nearly the same color as her shirt when she realized she'd sworn in front of the priest.

"You were injured?" it was more of a statement than a question. Ray grimaced as pain shot through his shoulder.

"Yeah, unfortunately." Sandra's own pain was becoming overwhelming. She placed her hand on her side in hopes that it would help. It didn't. "Ah, if you need anything else, I'm afraid you'll have to ask one of the others. I've got to go lay down now." Weaving slightly, she crossed the camp and sank gratefully on her blanket.

Hawkes had been watching and had seen Sandra turn white. He'd almost reached her by the time she'd laid down. "I'm all right," Sandra said once she realized he was there."I'm bleeding though. I guess I overdid it, huh?"

"Yes, I guess you did," Hawkes replied. He was worried but he didn't want Sandra to know. "Can I look?"

"Knock yourself out." Unconsciousness was threatening. Sandra almost welcomed it as an escape from the fire brand of pain boiling in her side. Then it was all blackness.

Lifting her arm out of the way, Cooper gently lifted up Sandra's shirt, pulling it away from the bandages underneath. They were soaked through. Scared, he quickly glanced around until he found a knife left by the fire. He wiped the blade off on the leg of his coveralls. Then Cooper used it to cut away the bandages so he could see the lacerations underneath. They'd ripped open again.

"Where's Harris?" Hawkes called out to Vin, who was several yards away, cutting wood among the trees.

"I'm not sure. Why?" he called back.

"I need help here." Hawkes wadded the bandages up and pressed them against the wounds in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood. Desperately, he wished he'd been left with his pack and the medical kit there in. He'd know what to do if he had it. Now, he could only manage the most rudimentary of care and he hated it. Running feet were coming toward him. Cooper glanced up at Harris, Harper and Sharpe as they hurried over from the river.

"What happened?" Harris demanded.

"She's bleeding. A lot," was the laconic answer. "I need something to press on it, something clean."

Harper pulled one of his own shirts out of his pack and handed it to the young invitro.

"May I borrow you sword, sir?" Harris asked.

"Why?" Sharpe asked. He was hoping the Irishman wasn't planning on cutting anything off.

"I have to cauterize the wounds and your sword is the only thing big enough to do it," Harris explained.

"Isn't it too big?" Hawkes inquired. The idea of using the heavy cavalry sword to burn the wounds shut turned his stomach.

"What would you suggest?" Harris asked. He was willing to listen to the options.

"How about this?" Vin offered up his buffalo knife. It had a blade that was roughly three inches at its thickest and approximately eight inches long.

"Thank you." Harris accepted the knife and pushed the tip among the coals from the fire. He then placed wood on top of the flames to increase the heat. "When it's hot enough, I'll need you to hold her down. She may be unconscious but she'll still feel the pain."

"We understand," Vin stated as he positioned himself on the ground by Sandra's feet.

"Are you ready?" Harris asked once the blade was hot.

The three men nodded their assent. Vin had Sandra's legs, Sharpe was prepared to use his body if necessary to hold them down. Harper had his right arm and the lower part of her trunk. Vin was in charge of her left arm, which was on top since she was lying on her right side and her head. In preparation, the men tightened their grip on the girl's various appendages.

"Here we go," Harris said. He paused long enough to make sure Sandra's shirt and the one Harper had given him were out of the way. Then Harris pulled the knife out of the fire, took a deep breath and applied the flat of the blade against the first gash.

Blood evaporated, flesh burned. Sandra barely reacted in the beginning but the pain began to register on her unconscious mind. A soft moan came from her lips and her body twitched away from the source of the pain.

Satisfied, Harris put the blade back in the fire to heat it up for the next one. The smell of burnt flesh hung around, there being no breeze to disperse it. The sickly sweet order turned Hawke's stomach. He didn't think he'd ever get used to it, especially when the flesh was his friend's.

Drawn by the commotion, Ezra, Chris and the colonel came into camp. Hagman was on guard duty and as much as he wanted to, he refused to leave his post. They didn't need an explanation as Harris applied the blade to the second gash. Her tolerance for pain decreased by the first one, Sandra reacted almost immediately. Hissing air from between clenched teeth and fought the restraining hands. Gasping against the searing pain, Sandra fought even harder, forcing Sharpe to practically throw himself bodily across her legs to keep them still. And yet she remained unconscious.

The knife was removed and placed back into the fire not a moment too soon. Sandra had nearly gotten away in her pain and fear. The other three joined the effort and found advantageous positions to man.

It was hot, sweaty work with so many bodies crammed together. Harris was thankful that they were half way done. "She's stronger than she looks," Vin stated, wiping sweat off his forehead during the lull in the action.

"You're not kidding," was Hawke's reply. Her strength had even surprised him.

"Get ready," Harris warned. The blade was just getting hot enough.

The third gash was the smallest and took a lot less time and effort. Sandra barely even flinched much to the relief of the men holding her down.

The fourth gash more than made up for it though. By the time it was properly sealed, Sharpe had been thrown off Sandra's legs and she'd nearly ripped the other gashes open again with her thrashing. She didn't scream, although a keening wail was evident near the end.

"You can let go now." Harris put the knife in the embers to clean it off as the others leg go and took a few steps back. The only exception was Sharpe, who'd come down hard on his injured arm. He was slow to get up.

"Will she be all right?" the colonel asked.

"I hope so," was all Harris would say as he carefully cleaned the wounds before wrapping them in bandages. With a damp cloth, he wiped a couple of layers of sweat off Sandra's face and neck. "Where's J.D.?"

"He's still in the stream. The water seems to help his wounds," Chris answered. He hated that they were being forced to stay here. He felt that they were better off if they kept moving. Where they were moving to was anyone's guess. He was also worried that those creatures or something like them were still after them. He was beginning to feel paranoid and he didn't like it. Briefly, Chris wondered where his friends were, the ones that were lost in the fog. As he thought, he unconsciously turned to face the bank of cloud.

"We'd better move them into the shade," Harris stated. The sun had moved while they'd worked on Sandra. She was now lying in full few of the sun's rays, as was Ray.

"I'll help," Hawkes volunteered. It bothered him to see Sandra so weak and helpless. It brought out a need to protect her that he hadn't felt for very many people in his life. Carefully, he grasped Sandra's feet and waited for Harris to hold her head. Harper came out of nowhere and slipped his hands under her rump to keep her from straining the newly cauterized wounds.

"Careful now, lads," the big Irishman instructed. Vin had laid a blanket among the trees in a spot that the sun wouldn't reach during its arc across the sky. He laid a second blanket a foot or so away for Ray.

Delicately, the three men hoisted Sandra off the ground and transported her limp form to the cool shade. Content that she was as comfortable as they could make her, they turned their attention to Ray.

Ray had somehow remained conscious but had been forced to lay down where the pain got to be too much for him. The Roman Catholic priest had watched as the woman's wounds were burned shut and shuttered. He hoped fervently that the same would not have to be done to him and that the woman would be all right.

Not entirely certain what the approaching men had planned, Ray tried to struggle to a seated position only to be stopped dead by the waves of pain that assailed him at the slightest movement of his shoulder.

"Take it easy," Hawkes said as he reached the man. "We're going to move you into the shade by Sandra, that's all."

Hawkes retained his position at the feet. He didn't want to be responsible for causing the man any discomfort. The young invitro figured the farther from the wound he was, the less likely he was to do that. "I thought I heard Sandra call you 'father'. Why is that?" he asked conversationally as he waited for the others to get in position.

"I'm a priest," was the quiet reply. Ray was steeling himself for the upcoming pain.

"Are you now?" Harper's face had lit up at the words. "I'm Roman Catholic myself father, so I am."

Any response was forestalled by a rush of blinding paid as Ray was hoisted up. The men were being as gentle as they could but it didn't help.

Thankfully, the paid subsided as Ray's body was lowered to the ground and carefully readjusted. "How's that, father?" Harper asked. He rolled up a blanket and slipped it under the priest's head.

"Better, thanks." Sleep slid over Ray before anything else could be asked.

"We'd best keep an eye on him," Harper stated.

"We will," Hawkes stated. He glanced at Sandra on his way by. It was one of his jobs to collect wood, preferably some distance from camp. He wasn't the only one. Collecting wood and hunting were probably the most important duties. Since Hawkes had no experience tracking and killing his supper, Chris had appointed him to wood collecting. He really didn't mind. It was pretty mindless stuff and he enjoyed the mile to mile and a half walk.

All in all it was an enjoyable afternoon for the young invitro. Seldom in his short life had Hawkes been able to spend time by himself out in the middle of nowhere without worrying that someone was going to find out what he was and try to kill him for it. At least here, the creatures were after them all equally. The notion vaguely Hawkes of the chigs. They hadn't cared who their targets were either.

It felt strange to be accepted, to not have to hide. The closest Hawkes had come to it was being in the Marines. The other people in his squadron had come to trust and respect him based on his own merits. Cooper had never expected to find the same outside the Forces. One never knew what life had planned. He revelled in the sensation of the sun on his skin and the wind blowing past him.

Feeling hot, Hawkes stripped his coveralls off to the waist and tied the arms together to keep them from falling down. Not that there was anyone to see it if they did.

He didn't work very hard. It was too hot and there wasn't that much to do. Casually, Hawkes collected sticks and cut larger pieces off with a knife he'd borrowed from Vin. When he had an arm load, he'd take it to his pile and dump it. Hawkes was working in an area of shrubs and trees along the stream, out of sight of camp. His gun was strapped to his hip and when he wasn't using it the knife was stuck into his belt.

In spite of the possible presence of the two forms of creature, Hawkes was fairly lax in his vigilance. He wasn't very worried. The cracked ribs were sore but he was able to ignore it unless he pulled them and pain shot through him.

Hunger gnawed at the young invitro by the time he had a suitably sized pile. The sun was only a few feet above the horizon as he tied two bundles of wood and picked them up, one in each hand.

Suddenly, Hawkes felt very alone. The world was getting dark around him and visions of the creatures were large in his mind's eye. Unconsciously, his pace quickened. He was a trained Marine. He allowed that training to take over when he realized just how frightened he really was.

It might have saved his life. Hawkes had been walking for half a mile. In the flat bottom of the valley, he was just able to see the camp's fire in the gathering gloom. Faintly, little more than an insect buzz, he could make out voices. He was beginning to feel safe. Then he heard it. It started out dim, about the same level of the voices. Then it got louder.

It took him a moment to decipher the sound and assign a name to it, running feet. More than one pair. The creatures were back and coming up fast behind Hawkes. Briefly he considered dumping the wood, grabbing his gun, turning and laying down a field of fire. The big problem with the plan was that the last rays of sun were brilliant behind him. He'd be effectively blinded.

The hairs standing up on the back of his neck, Cooper broke into a dead run. With any luck, he might be able to reach the others or warn them if he ran out of space. His heart pounding, his feet hammered against the grass.

The creatures were gaining but not fast enough. Hawkes was two hundred yards away when he started to shout. Hagman was alerted immediately. He'd just come into camp from the south from an unsuccessful hunting trip.

His rifle all ready loaded, Hagman ran toward Hawkes. Just outside the reach of the firelight, he dropped to one knee, raised the Baker rifle and waited patiently for a target. McQueen, Chris, Harris, Harper and Vin joined him, their various weapons ready.

"Get behind us!" Chris ordered the invitro. He didn't need the young man getting in his line of fire.

The sun was nearly down. The angel of the rays had changed, gone higher. It didn't improve visibility much, though. Everything beneath the rays was black. Hawkes bounded by them, the forgotten bundles still clutched tightly in each hand. Aware of them again, he dropped them down near the fire and sprinted back, his gun in his right hand.

Fearful for an ambush from the east, J.D., Ezra and Sharpe stayed in the camp. They could hear the creatures coming closer. Now that their prey was within reach, the monsters had started to growl and snare. The first one came straight for the huge Irishman. Harper's Baker rifle barked. The shot struck the furry hide directly in the chest. It barely even broke stride. Harper had only enough time to unsling his seven barrel gun before it was on him. At point blank range, he pulled the trigger. The shots travelled through the thick hide and came out the other side.

Still it came on. The kickback from the seven barrel rifle was immense and threw the huge man several steps back before Harper could regain his balance. He managed to dodge most of the creature but when it collapsed from its mortal wounds his legs were trapped beneath its bulk. Even with all of his strength, Harper couldn't get it off of him and the others were a little busy at the moment.

Three more of the furry, fanged and clawed monstrosities had barrelled out of the night. Hawkes had joined McQueen on the skirmish line and with their combined might of their two weapons were able to bring the nearest one down within five feet of their line.

They turned their attention to the next one, being careful to not use any more bullets than necessary. They only had the one clip each. Daniel and Harris were only able to fire four wounds before the creatures were on them. Chris and Vin had emptied the six shooters into the beast nearest them to no avail. Sliding the double barrelled shot gun off his shoulder, Chris aimed quickly at the creature's head and pulled the trigger. The black eyes blinked then the creature collapsed, coming to a halt at the gunman's feet.

The fourth creature joined its fellows moments later. Breathing heavy, thankful that no one was hurt, the small group heaved the beast's body off the struggling Irishman.

"We've got to get rid of these bodies. Otherwise every carnivore for miles will be coming, looking for food," Chris said, his breath levelling out. It had to be too good to last, didn't it?

"Do we have to do it tonight?" Hawkes inquired. He did not relish the idea of going out in the dark again.

"Do you really want to meet their friends?" Chris wanted to know.

"No," was the only thing the young invitro could think to say.

"Come on, lads. The sooner we get at it, the sooner it'll be done," Harper suggested. Come morning, he was going to have some nasty bruises. He could feel them all ready. Grunting, he bent beside the creature that had pinned him, jabbed it a couple of times with his bayonete and then slipped the blade back into its sheath on his belt. Content that he wasn't about to lose a hand or an arm, he grabbed huge handfuls of hair on either side of its head.

To lift one creature, it took all seven of them, their muscles straining. By the third one, they had given up trying to get it off the ground more than a couple of inches. Burying them was another ordeal entirely. All they had to dig with were knives and bayonets. Since there weren't enough to go around, the men took turns and laboured long into the night.

Exhausted, the group of men returned to camp, sweaty and hungry, just a few short hours before sun rise. Having seen them coming and being the one currently on watch, Ezra had a meagre breakfast of meat and an overcooked bread waiting for them. A short distance from the fire, he'd placed a bowl of water and a couple of coarse towels he'd found among their things, in case any of them wanted to wash up.

Tired to the point of numbness Hawkes dragged his blanket over near Sharpe, Sandra and Ray and collapsed. Not too long after, the camp was silent again and Ezra settled in for the rest of his watch and probably part of J.D.'s if he wasn't tired yet.

_**A/N: Hi. I'm really sorry. I haven't felt much like writing or even transcribing stories of late. There's an illness in my family and the best thing I seem to be able to do is sit and stare at the TV. Not very proactive, huh? **_

_**Anyway, if you're still with me, I'd like to take a little poll. I have a whole new chapter that could revolve around Hawkes and Ray and drag some more characters into this story or I can omit that part of it and move onto a crossover with 'Horatio Hornblower'. I'll have to do some fancy footwork to explain how some of the characters wound up on board the ship too with Sandra and Sharpe's people but I'm sure I'll manage. What would you like to read? This story can be as long or as short as you'd like it to be. Please let me know.**_

_**Thanks.**_

_**Susanne**_


	16. Chapter 16

_Hi. Yeah, I'm still alive. I'll skip the apology, while sincere, it doesn't seem quite sufficient. My computer has finally decided to cooperate again. Removing the two WORMS seemed to help too. OOOOPS._

_Anyway, thank you for sticking with me, if you're still reading that is. With any luck my computer will remain worm free and will continue to cooperate. I sure hope so, I've missed writing and most definitely the reviews (PLEASE!). _

_Take care!_

_Susanne_

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Her back was warm and someone was breathing softly in her left ear. Part of Sandra's mind was aware of the presence. Most, however, was not. Her side hurt like a million fire ants were biting into her flesh and she barely managed to stifle a sob. She hated the weakness she felt in herself but the pain was too much and she moaned softly.

A hand came up to rest on her left shoulder. Sharpe wanted very much to hold the woman and comfort her but her wounds prevented it, that and her pride. "It will get better," was all Sharpe could think to say.

Wishing that a willow tree was nearby, Sandra didn't bother to respond. Instead, she concentrated on her breathing, trying to keep it even and to distract herself. "Did I miss anything?"

"We were attacked but nobody was hurt," Sharpe said. He moved closer to Sandra's back. The sun was up by a couple of minutes and was not yet warming the air or ground. It wasn't really cold, about seven degrees Celsius but still cold enough when injury played a role.

"I miss all the fun." Part of Sandra wanted to jump away from the man. The other part felt it was the most natural thing she'd done in a while. It hurt too much to move so she allowed him to stay where he was.

Sharpe laughed quietly. She was definitely a remarkable woman. "We'll try to get them to attack while you're awake."

"Thanks." Sandra hissed as pain flashed through her side. She flinched as it travelled from her hip to her shoulder. Her side in an uproar all ready, Sandra forced her protesting body to twist until she was lying on her back. Pain flared then quickly decreased as she became immobile again.

When it finally passed, Sandra opened her eyes, which had been tightly closed. Once her vision cleared, her eyes came to rest on Sharpe's and Hawke's concerned faces. "It's getting better," Sandra assured them, her voice barely above a whisper. "Could I have some water?"

Tenderly, Hawkes braced her head and lifted a canteen to Sandra's lips. A couple of sips were the extent of her strength. Sleep overcame her almost before Hawkes moved the canteen away from her mouth. The young invitro laid the woman's head on her blanket and put the stopper in the canteen mouth.

"Get some sleep," Sharpe ordered him as the blond man settled down beside Sandra. "We'll probably need it, lad."

OOOOO

Morning came late to the camp. J.D. relieved Ezra shortly after sunrise. The others barely stirred from their positions of the night before. The first man up was Hagman. He went down to the river to wash up. Then he began to make breakfast and sent J.D. to get after he'd eaten.

Patience was a virtue the old Chestershireman had in abundance. He needed it as he waited for some of his companions to awaken. Ever vigilant, he sat by the fire, poked absently at the logs and scanned the land around the camp. Battle was beginning to seem like the easy part. At least you knew who the enemies were and where they were.

Shaking the thought away, Daniel watched as Chris stirred under his blankets and slowly climbed to his feet. He stretched in an effort to get the kinks out of his neck, back and shoulders. He was only partially successful.

"Good morning," Chris said to Daniel on his way to the stream. He felt a terrible need to get clean. He swore he could smell those vile creatures all over his clothes and skin. He wanted to get as much off him as he could.

"Morning, sir, the water's cold," Hagman stated.

"Good, maybe it'll wake me up." The trials and tribulations thus far were catching up with him. Chris felt like he'd aged fifty years since appearing in this world.

At the riverbank, Chris slowly stripped off his grubby clothes, left his guns on a large rock and wadded into the chilly waters. With handfuls of sand, the gunfighter scrubbed at his skin. His hair took three tries to get the smell out, even with the strong soap he'd used on it. His clothes were equally as stubborn. Chris had just finished them when he was joined by Harris, Vin and McQueen. The work of the night before had been hard on both skin and clothes.

OOOOO

"Feel better?" Hagman asked when they'd returned, looking like a bunch of drowned rats.

"Much," was Harris' reply.

"Breakfast is ready," Hagman stated. "Harris, wake up Captain Sharpe and Sergeant Harper."

Dutifully, the young Irishman went over to where the two men slept. Sharpe had a protective arm draped over Sandra, who appeared to be completely oblivious. Cautiously, Harris knelt down beside his Captain and gently shook his shoulder. "Sir, it's time to eat." He was trying to rouse his officer without awakening the young woman. A quick glance at Sandra to see if he was bothering her showed him that her color was better and her face wasn't screwed up against the pain.

A second attempt to wake the Captain didn't get any better response. Sharpe was sleeping too soundly and Harris decided to not disturb him after all.

On the other hand, Harper reacted violently to the other man's touch. He nearly decked the smaller man before his eyes had a chance to focus and recognition set in. Recovering quickly, Harper let go of Harris's shirt where he'd gripped it with his left hand and lowered his right fist. He blinked in the unaccustomed light and scanned the camp.

"It's all right, sergeant!" Harris gasped once he could breathe again. "Daniel told me to wake you for breakfast." He'd backpedalled to be out of the huge man's reach.

"The captain?" Harper asked, still shaking off some powerful nightmare he'd been having.

"Asleep. I tried to wake him but I couldn't."

Now that sleep was completely banished, the large Irishman could feel the bruises on his legs twinge. It was going to hurt to stand.

"Thanks Harris. Sorry about trying to hit you." His teeth clenched tight, Patrick forced his protesting legs under him and stood up. It hurt but not as badly as he'd expected.

Harris nodded to his sergeant. Then he went over to the fire to get his well deserved breakfast. "You knew he was going to do that, didn't you?" he accused his fellow Rifleman. The older man had an amused expression on his weathered face.

"I had a feeling," the Chestershireman admitted, a smile snaking across his lips.

The others gathered around the fire laughed at the righteous indignation on the young Rifleman's face. A moment passed and Harris joined them. It had been vaguely amusing, as much as he hated to admit it.

Famished, Harper ate a good meal, saved some for Hawkes, Sharpe, Sandra and Ray and headed for the river. He took a long, leisurely bath, leaving the others to take care of themselves while his bruised legs slowly went from sharp, stabbing pains to a dull ache in the cool waters.

OOOOO

The next two weeks were spent quietly enough. The injured were given a chance to heal. The creatures returned once but were easily defeated. Even the uninjured were given a chance to relax and catch up on some much needed rest.

Game was plentiful in the valley as was water and wood. It was just what they'd needed. But, as wounds healed and stamina returned, the urge to move on re-emerged. Harris had retained large portions of the meat they caught and killed. He tried it into jerky, knowing they would need supplies when they continued their trek.

OOOOO

One morning, the decision was made for them. The fog was back, arriving in an instant.

"Damn," Sandra muttered when she opened her eyes after a full night's sleep.

"What?"Captain Sharpe asked from beside her. He had yet to open his eyes. The two had taken to sleeping side by side, sharing body heat as needed. But their relationship continued to be platonic. Sandra figured sex would just screw things up.

"It's time to leave," Sandra stated as she climbed to her feet and stretched. She rolled up her blankets, put them under her arm and picked up her rifle and ammunition belt. "The fog's back."

Instantly awake, Sharpe gained his feet slower than the woman had. His cast arm was still slowing him down marginally. "Is everyone here?" Sharpe called into the dense cloud bank. Two feet to his right, he could just make out a sleeping Father Ray. To his left, Hawkes was also oblivious. Beyond that was greyness. Sight, hearing and smell were dampened.

"It would appear so," Chris called back. He'd all ready located Hagman, Harper, Harris and Ezra. They'd been around the fire with him when the fog had descended. J.D., Vin and McQueen had found their way to the fire on their own. With Sharpe's question, Chris knew that most of them were still here. "Is Sandra, Hawkes and Father Ray with you?"

"You keep talking and we'll find our way to you," Sandra stated. Sharpe watched as Sandra bend down and shook the young invitro's shoulder. Hawkes jumped upon seeing the fog and quickly joined him as Sandra repeated the procedure with Father Ray.

Father Ray reacted badly to the fog. He scrambled to his feet and frantically searched his immediate surroundings. Images of great, furry beasts with long, gnashing teeth pursuing him were playing through his mind. Hesitantly, Sandra reached out to him and touched his arm. "Its okay, Father, everyone's safe," she reassured him.

"Sorry," Ray muttered as he recovered from the initial shock. "Where are the others?"

"Just follow Daniel's voice," Sandra stated. The old Chestershireman was singing, quietly. He wanted to lead the four to him but not disturb any creatures that may be around.

Protectively, Sandra placed her hand on the priest's arm and gently propelled him in the right direction. Father Ray had not been doing very well, mentally. Since his arrival on the planet, after all this could not be earth, the young priest was in a constant state of shock. Whether it was from how he'd appeared, being chased down, or just from an inability to adjust to their new surroundings. He'd been showing signs of coming around only to retreat at the sight of the fog.

With Daniel's help, they found the campfire in moments.

"Which direction?" Hawkes asked, looking around the ring of faces expectantly. He'd lost all sense of direction after two steps. It was very disorientating.

"The canteens and backpacks are full. Any direction is as good as another," Chris replied.

"How hard are the hills to climb?" Sandra asked. In all the time she'd been here, she hadn't tried the climb, her injuries prevented any attempt.

"They're steep in places but still climbable," Vin informed her. He'd explored the south hills for a half day's distance many times. He found it hard to stay in one place for any length of time and had been endlessly wandering the countryside.

"Whoever is in control is trying to shepherd us to the west. The river stops us on the north, we came from the east and there are hills to the south. I say we don't cooperate any more than necessary and go south." Sandra had a stubborn streak and didn't like to be pushed.

"Sounds good to me, lass," Harper stated. He liked the girl's guts and determination.

"It's as good a reason as any," Chris added. A general murmur of consent made its way through the group. Most of them didn't care where they went so long as they got out of the dense mist.

Without further discussion, they assumed their positions and headed out. Father Ray and Captain Sharpe were kept in the middle, much to the Rifleman's chagrin. His arm in a splint prevented him from using his sword properly and reloading his rifle. So, he was kept in the middle to be safe. The others had all healed well enough to assume protective positions. Vin, J.D., and Chris were in the lead, Vin knowing the country and all. Harper and Sandra flanked Sharpe and Father Ray. Ezra, the colonel and Hawkes followed while Hagman and Harris brought up the rear.

There had been nagging doubt whether the fog would somehow scrub the landscape clean as it had apparently done before. That doubt vanished once the terrain took a sharp upward turn. The climbing slowed the group's progress considerably. Some of them, namely Sandra and Father Ray had little to no experience in the process and took longer than Chris and Vin. But she didn't mind so much, Richard was having just as much trouble.

"Thank goodness for flat ground," Sandra panted. Now that they'd all reached the top, she'd stopped and rested her hands on her knees while she waited for her breath to even out.

"I hear you," Father Ray responded. He wasn't quite as out of breath as Sandra but he was close. His long illness had left him with less stamina than usual.

In minutes they were moving again. Glancing at the blonde captain as they walked, Sandra marvelled at the circumstances that had put her in the position of being friends with this hard man and the others. She felt very lucky and privileged. The captain didn't have many people he let close to him. As she watched, a grimace passed over his handsome features and he shifted his splinted arm into a more comfortable position in its sling.

"How's it going?" Sandra asked, concerned.

"Fine," Sharpe growled. He hated feeling weak and helpless, especially in the face of such a strong, capable woman.

Taking the hint, Sandra shut up and trudged on. Time seemed to stand still in the mist. It felt like they'd been walking for a millennium when Chris finally called a halt.

Gratefully, the company sank to the grassy plain they'd been crossing. So tired were they that they didn't even bother to leave formation. As she settled her pack beside her and her rifle across her lap, Sandra saw a spasm of pain cross Sharpe's face.

"Could I see your arm?" Sandra asked. She had thought that by now the level of discomfort would have decreased. Evidently it hadn't.

Without replying, the young captain wearily offered the woman his arm. Gently, Sandra examined the splint, the healed wound and turned it to look at every angle. "Does it hurt all the time or just when you move it certain ways?"

"It aches and hurts sometimes. I'm fine." Sharpe wasn't feeling very charitable right night.

"There isn't anything obviously wrong with it, other than the fact that it was broken. Maybe its sore because its healing." Sandra was feeling a lot out of her depth. Other than triage medicine she didn't have a clue what to do for the long haul. In her insecurity, she'd completely ignored Sharpe's last comment and his tone.

Crawling out of the depths of his self-loathing, Sharpe became aware of the fear and uncertainty in Sandra's eyes. Hesitantly, he lifted his hand to her cheek and held it there for a moment. "The arm hurts but I'll be fine," he reassured her.

Startled and angered by her need, Sandra stood up and moved several paces away, as far as she could get without getting lost in the cloud bank. Sensing that she wanted to be alone, Vin crept as close to her as he dared. Visions of the creatures attacking while the woman was separated from the others played through his mind.

When it was time to start out again, Sandra resumed her position beside Captain Sharpe as if nothing had happened. As much as she desired the man, Sandra refused to complicate her world and his by giving in to it. She promised herself while she'd moved away from the others that she would not allow herself to be put in that position again.

OOOOO

The company was in the fog for five days. Ezra kept track with his gold watch. Once, when he checked it, he found that it had stopped sometime during the night. As casually as he could, Ezra wound the watch and reset it to the time he figured it should be.

The trip was uneventful, no creatures, no animals, no water except the moisture that collected on their clothes and backpacks overnight. The train remained the same, grassland. There were no inclines or declines, just grass and level ground.

By the fifth day, most of them were getting pretty tired of jerked meat, especially Sandra who wouldn't eat it at all if there was a plausible alternative. Looking her fourth piece of dried meat for the day in the face, Sandra swallowed, hard, and shoved the end into her mouth and tore a piece off. Beside her, Hawkes did pretty much the same.

"I'm beginning to miss C rations," the young invitro muttered. With a definite lack of enthusiasm, he chewed on a piece of meat.

"The grass is beginning to look very appetizing," Sandra agreed, grinning ruefully. It was their second stop of the day. The world around them looked, smelled and felt the same. If it weren't for the green grass underfoot, she would have gone stark raving mad from the complete lack of color. In the constant dampness everyone's clothes had gone to their darkest shades, eliminating even that.

"At least it would vary the menu a bit," Father Ray stated from Sandra's other side. At the time spent in the uniformity of the fog shrouded landscape had helped him overcome the largest part of his fear. The wound itched horribly under his damp clothes but, otherwise, he was finally feeling more like himself again.

At one point, Ray had offered to carry a weapon, to use in his own defence and Captain Sharpe's. As a group, he was refused. None of them, even those of no set religion, like Sandra, would hear of him breaking his vows for any reason.

"Everyone up," Chris ordered as he clambered to his own aching feet.

"Are we even sure we're going in the right direction?" Harris asked.

"No," Hagman replied. "But, would you rather wait here until our water runs out?" Even he had lost all sense of direction.

"No, I suppose not."

OOOOO

Another two days passed in the mist. Vin was the one who saw the first stone. After the uninterrupted grass, it came as quite a shock. Soon the ground was littered with them, making walking a bit more treacherous.

Sandra kept expecting the creatures to attack but they didn't, even as the fog began to disappait. In the lead, Vin, J.D., and Chris pulled up short at what appeared to be the edge of an outcropping, and dropped to the ground, signalling the others to do the same.

"What's wrong?" Captain Sharpe breathed from his position just behind the gunmen. The fog was nearly gone but he still could not see what had alarmed the men.

Silence was the only answer for several heartbeats. Harper slithered up to the edge of the outcropping and peered over. "God save Ireland," floated back to the British officer.

In a vast valley, five times the size of the one they'd lived in, men, the size of ants, laboured and laboured hard. It was a scene out of medieval times. They were tending a mind. What the men were digging for was not immediately evident. Huge fires burned unattended. Long lines of men trudged into large holes in the valley walls across from where they watched.

It reminded Sandra of a scene from a bad movie when she joined the men on the lip overlooking the valley. "Hey, Harper, isn't that Perkins?" she asked, pointing at a figure, closer than most. The green jacket, a rifleman's jacket, was obvious even from this distance. The slim build and dark, curly hair marked the man as the youngest of Sharpe's chosen men.

"I think you're right, lass," was the big sergeant's quiet reply. Using his hands, he signalled Hagman to come up. The Cheshire man had the best eyes of all of them.

Silently, the older man sank down between Harper and Sandra. With wide eyes, he stared down at teh valley bottom.

"What do you see there?" Harper asked, pointing to the figure.

Relief flashed over Hagman's weathered face. "It's the boy, Perkins." A tension he hadn't realized was there released. "I don't see Taylor or Bean."

His eyes weren't quite as good as the Cheshire man, but Vin still discovered a couple of shapes that looked familiar. Nudging Chris in the arm, he indicated the figures he was watching. "That looks like Josiah, Nathan and Buck."

The three men were working, lifting large rocks and putting them in piles. It seemed senseless but the creatures overseeing them would prod them with a metal stick if any of the trio slowed down. The creature with the prod was the same type of creature that had attacked them in the fog. The fur was a darker color and it stood on two feet but otherwise it looked the same. Upright, it dwarfed its three prisoners by nearly a foot.

The others had joined them on the ridge, too curious to remain behind. Father Ray and the colonel were on the lookout, just in case someone decided to sneak up on them.

Crouched down with Harper, Hagman and Sandra, Sharpe cringed when one of the creatures casually walked by Perkins and jabbed him with the stick. The young man jerked away and crumpled, twitching to the dirt. "Bloody hell," he swore.

"I'll scout around, see if there's an easier place to get down," Vin stated, scrambling back before standing up.

"I'll go with you," Hagman volunteered, mimicking the plainsman. The two men set out in a crouch.

Sharpe considered getting angry at the old poacher and ordering him back but decided against it. Discipline in the ranks had always been somewhat lax between him and his chosen men unless he gave them an order. Now did not seem to be the time or place to start throwing his weight around. Besides, he approved of the man's decision. He only wished Hagman had let his officer make it for him.

"It looks to be some kind of electrical discharge," McQueen was saying to Sandra and Hawkes. The three of them were huddled together, Father Ray shadowing them, discussing what they saw in the valley. "But the effects are temporary."

A little shaky and weak, Perkins was regaining his feet. Mercilessly, the creature prodded him back to work.

"It reminds me of a cattle prod," Sandra added. She shivered as an unidentified man went down, the silver prod dug into his side. A thought rose to the surface of her mind. Carefully, she scanned the figures in the valley. "I'm the only female," she breathed, suddenly terrified.

"What was that?" McQueen asked, not tearing his eyes off the scene before him.

"Out of all the humans on the planet, at least the ones I can see, I'm the only female," Sandra stated, her voice a little shaky.

"Maybe they use the men for the mining," Hawkes suggested. He scanned the people, not believing her.

"She's right," McQueen agreed with the woman. "We'll have to wait to see if they have any others hidden away."

"In the meantime," Sharpe interjected. He'd been listening to their conversation. "We keep your identity secret." He had visions of the creatures grabbing Sandra and doing terrible things to her, things he'd seen during his days at war.

"Good idea," Chris stated. The others nodded their understanding. Then they settled in to wait.

OOOOO

Father Ray was the first to hear it. A crunching sound, as if someone was walking on dry leaves, a neat trick in the prairie. Warily, he turned in the direction the noise was coming from. To his left, Hawkes had heard it too and turned toward the source.

Before Ray had a chance to react, a huge paw, claws long and sharp, swiped him across the neat. Senseless, the priest crumpled. Hawkes had a split-second longer, just long enough to get a round off. Then he joined the holy man on the ground.

As one, the company responded. Ezra and Harris watched their backs while Sandra, Harper, Chris, McQueen and J.D. rained bullets on the four creatures they found. Even Sharpe got a chance. J.D. had given him one of his six shooters. He was forced to use his left hand to aim and fire the weapon and his splinted right hand to cock the hammer. It was awkward and it caused his wrist to ache, but he could still be of assistance.

These were the same as the aliens on the valley floor. They walked upright and carried the metal prods. Intelligence burned in their dark eyes. It was most disconcerting, even from a distance.

Of the four creatures, two had stepped forward, bullets pulling at their fur and punching into their skin. The other two unceremoniously picked up the still forms of the priest and invitro and nonchalantly walked away from the battle.

"Stop them!" Colonel McQueen shouted. Heedless of the onslaught, he raced toward the retreating aliens. Sandra and Chris pounded behind him but they were quickly overtaken by the forward creatures.

The battle was joined by the returning Vin and Hagman, turning the scales in their favour. The two forward creatures beat a hasty retreat. It wasn't in time to save Ray and Cooper, the creatures carrying them were long gone.


	17. Chapter 17

_Hello! I'm sorry this took so long. As before, my computer is being a pain. _

_I'll warn you know that I get a little carried away pulling in characters from other shows into this fic. If you can slog through all of them in the next chapter, the least I can do is say that most of them don't stay long. Hopefully that will help!_

_I hope you enjoy the next instalment of this story._

_Thanks for sticking with me._

_Susanne_

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Damn it," McQueen swore. For the first time since coming to this planet, the older vitro felt alone.

"We'll get them back," Sandra reassured him, tenderly placing a hand on his shoulder. Beneath the thin fabric, she could feel McQueen's muscles. They were as tight as drums.

"How?" McQueen demanded. It felt like his son had been stolen from him, if the geneticists hadn't made him sterile. That was how they'd made all male invitros, unable to have children of their own. Distractedly, he wondered what the other members of his squadron were doing. What did they think had happened to Hawkes and himself?

"They went in this direction," Hagman informed his comrades. In the confusion, he'd been the only one to follow the beasts' progress down the valley edge. He waited for his captain's nod before heading out. Shaken and hyper vigilant, the company settled into ranks out of habit and cautiously retraced the aliens' trail.

The rock face was steep. The route the creatures had followed was a path barely two feet wide, narrowing to one and a half in places. Stumbling in the loose dirt and barely keeping herself from tumbling down the valley wall, Sandra fervently wished someone had thought to pack climbing equipment.

A strong hand caught Sandra under the arm and pulled her to her feet. "Thanks," she said, turning to find Harper grinning at her.

"You're welcome," the Irishman replied. Then they were moving down the path again.

OOOOO

He expected pain. Vast amounts of pain. What the priest got instead when he opened his eyes was ... nothing. Taking a deep breath, Ray shifted his head and looked to his right. He was in a room with walls but no windows. It took him several moments of fruitless searching to find the door, along the wall beyond his feet.

The only furnishings were the mattress he was laying on, another mattress to his left where he could see Hawkes, still unconscious, and a bucket between the two, whose purpose was fairly obvious. The only light source was diffuse and seemed to be coming from the walls themselves. How, Ray didn't know.

In his examination of his cell, Father Ray was sure the door wouldn't open if he tried. He couldn't see any observation devices, at least not obvious ones.

His right hand was cold. When Ray raised it to see what was wrong, he found an iron shackle securely fastened to his wrist. The shackle was welded to a length of chain that was buried in the wall behind him. Fear and panic threatened the edges of his thoughts. Slipping off his mattress, Father Way stretched as far as the chain would let him and he nudged the insensate invitro with his foot.

"Cooper, wake up." Several nudges later, the young man moaned.

"What?" he demanded as he tried to sit up. Instantly, his military training took over and he had the situation assessed in a tenth of the time it had taken the civilian.

"This is not good," Cooper muttered, pulling experimentally on the chain. It held. "Any ideas of where we are?"

"No." Father Ray had returned to his mattress and was sitting with his back against the wall.

Soundlessly, the door vanished. In a flash, Hawkes had gained his feet and was prepared to pound anything that got too close into the ground. Father Ray was slower to react. He'd just gotten up off the mattress when a shape blocked the light from the corridor beyond.

"So, how are we feeling today, my pretties?" a distinctly feminine voice purred.

"Why don't you come a little closer and find out?" Hawkes spat, his fingers flexing.

"Frisky, aren't we? That's good, I like frisky." The shape stepped forward into the room. She was tall, nearly seven feet. The parts of her that weren't covered by a long, multilayered gown had thick, luminous fur. She was definitely not human, with her feline features. Pointed, tufted ears rose from the top of her skull. A triangular, black nose sat above sharp teeth that flashed when she smiled, as she was now. A fine dusting of whiskers poked out of either side of her lip. Her eyes were a glowing yellow.

With an ethereal grace, she crossed the distance that separated them. When she was in striking distance Hawkes threw an undercut, directed at her delicate chin.

Almost nonchalantly, the female avoided the blow and delivered one of her own. Hawkes doubled over as his breath whooshed from his body. The creature had been so fast that he hadn't seen it coming.

"Leave him alone," Father Ray demanded as Hawkes sank to his knees, still gasping for breath. He was beginning to wonder if this all was nothing more than a really, really bad dream.

"Most certainly," the woman purred as she turned away from the invitro to center all of her attention on the young priest. "But now, of course, I'm going to have to find something else to amuse myself."

In the blink of an eye, the feline had her right hand resting on the crotch of Father Ray's pants, her claws extended. He had nowhere to go. His back was all ready against the wall. Instinctively, Ray caught hold of her hand with both of his own and attempted to pull it away from his body. Even with every muscle straining, the priest couldn't budge her claw.

Laughing, she wiped at Ray with her other hand, cracking his head into the wall. Consciousness disappeared as his body went limp in her grasp.

"Keep your paws to yourself," Hawkes hissed. He'd managed to stretch his body and his chain enough to reach the creature. Kicking out with his nearest leg, Cooper caught her just behind her right knee, causing the leg to crumple.

A low growl rumbled deep in the woman's throat as she racked her claws across the invitro's chest. The resulting wounds were deep enough to sting but not deep enough to cause any permanent damage. In reaction, Cooper jerked away and backpedalled two steps.

"Feeling protective, are we?" the creature purred, releasing Father Ray to slump to the floor. "I've heard he's some kind of a shaman. Is that true?"

It was as if nothing violent had happened. The feline stood between the two mattresses, Father Ray no longer a consideration, and smiled brightly at Hawks, who'd dropped into a defensive stance.

"I wouldn't know about that. Just leave him alone," Hawkes warned. Before she came back he was going to have to find a weapon. If he survived this encounter first, of course.

"I could do that, I suppose." She appeared to think for a moment, her head cocked at a slight angle. "All right, if that's what you want."

Imperiously, the female turned and left the room. Hawkes watched until the door slid into place before relaxing his stance. Trembling, he turned his back on the door and tried to reach Father Ray, only to be brought up short by the chain on his wrist.

"Damn it," he swore. Then, miraculously, the chain gave way nearly two feet. Hope rising, Hawkes braced his foot against the wall and pulled. The chain retracted three links and anchored. Someone on the other side of the wall had control of how long the chain was. If he pulled on it anymore, they may pull it all the way back.

Father Ray was out cold. A bump and a large bruise were appearing just a little above and between his right ear and eye. With the longer chains, the young invitro was able to grasp the priest's left arm and gently draw him toward him.

"What do we do now?" Hawkes asked under his breath. Amid some grunting and heavy breathing, Cooper dragged his palette over to the priest's so they wouldn't have to sit on the stone floor. Then he sat down beside Father Ray and checked his own wounds as well as the priest's head.

The claw marks were superficial. His uniform had been cut in three places and the skin underneath had three furrows in it but they'd all ready stopped bleeding. Father Ray's wound was bleeding slightly, had a robin's egg size lump and a deep purple bruise. Propping him up against the wall, Hawkes slid his right arm around him and pulled him close. The last thing he needed was for Ray to succumb to shock. If he had a cranial injure there wasn't a whole lot Hawkes could do for him.

OOOOO

A soft moan woke Hawkes up. For a split second Cooper had trouble remembering where he was. Then reality set in. Father Ray shifted beneath his arm. The priest brought his fee hand up to his head and tentatively probed the wound. His hand grasped hold of the invitro's arm, like he was feeling for fur. Not finding any, Ray relaxed a bit.

"Hawkes?" Ray asked. He had yet to turn his face toward his cell mate.

"I'm right here, Father." With growing unease, he felt the priest's grip tighten fractionally. Being an invitro, Hawkes didn't know too much about religion but he liked being able to call someone 'Father' since he didn't have one of his own.

"I can't see," Ray stated simply. Surprisingly, he didn't feel overwhelming fear as he'd expected to, just a calm realization. The blow to his head must have caused his blindness. Either it would heal itself or it wouldn't. Ray did, however, feel a great sense of relief that Hawkes was still with him.

Slipping his arm out from around the man, he turned Ray's face so he could look into his eyes. They seemed to be seeing beyond him, not looking directly at him. "Great, just great."

"How do you feel?" Cooper asked once he'd recovered himself.

"My head hurts some but I'm fine."

"You can't see anything at all?" Even shades of light and dark could mean the difference between permanent residency and escape.

"No," was the quiet reply. Carefully, Ray rested his aching skull on the wall behind him. "You know something? I'm really getting tired of being a victim."

"Until we find a way out of here, we don't have much choice." Now that Cooper's arm was free, he was trying to break through the covering on his mattress. There may be something inside other than stuffing. Something he could use to jimmy the clasp on his shackle.

"Do you think she's in charge here?" Hawkes had moved far enough away that Ray no longer had physical contact with him. Ray needed some sort of contact beyond the darkness swimming before his eyes, even if only verbal.

"I don't know. She's the only one I've seen so far." The fabric covering had torn enough for the young invitro to root around inside. "Ah huh!"

"What?" Father Ray asked. Feeling vulnerable, he felt his way into the corner and pressed his back into it.

"I may have a way out. Just give me a minute." Whoever made the mattresses had been kind enough to use springs. Pulling one out, Hawkes straightened the thin piece of wire, moved over toward his chain so it wouldn't be tight and stuck the wire into the key hole.

It looked so easy in those old movies to jimmy locks with a single piece of metal. Obviously it was just another fairy tale perpetrated by Hollywood. Sweat broke out on Hawkes' brown as he struggled to not break the wire in the locking mechanism. As he moved it he felt a click. Then another one. Hope burned in him as he tried for the third tumbler.

Dimly, Hawkes became aware of a low humming. A song he thought he should know but couldn't quite pin down. Distracted, he glanced over to Rather Ray. The priest was crouched in the corner, his legs drawn up to his chest and his head rested on his knees. The humming sound was coming from him. He was rocking slightly in time to the music.

Hardly noticing, the shackle fell from the invitro's wrist. Crossing the distance between them, he tentatively touched the man's arm. The humming stopped. Father Ra raised his head and waited.

"I need your arm. I've gotten my chain off," Hawkes informed him.

Wordlessly, the priest held out his arm.

"Are you okay?" Hawkes didn't bother to look up from working the wire in the locking mechanism.

"Scared, but fine," was the laconic response.

"We're going to get out of here," Hawkes assured him. All ready he felt one of the tumblers click into place. Apparently skill had little to do with this.

Ray tried to stay positive but with his head pounding to a rhythm all its own and no change in his lack of sight, it was hard. Desperately, he wanted to be back in his parish. He missed Leo and Eric and Moe. There was a faint clicking sound as his shackle fell to the ground.

"It's time to leave, Father."

OOOOO

"How are we going to find them in this?" Sandra asked.

"We look under one stone at a time," Chris replied. Their attempt to reach Perkins, Josiah, Buck or Nathan had been unsuccessful. They were too closely watched for now.

They'd split into two groups to cover more area. Sandra, Chris, McQueen, Hagman and Harris made up the first time. J.D., Fin, Ezra, Sharpe, and Harper had gone off in the opposite direction. Hopefully they're having better luck, Sandra thought. They were crouched behind a large boulder four feet from a cave entrance. Careful observation had revealed that this cave was not an excavation site. Guards came and want at fairly regular intervals but no slaves were allowed anywhere near it.

"How are we going to get inside?" Sandra wondered. Somehow, five humans in a cave with hairy creatures didn't seem to be much of a disguise.

"It's almost dark," Harris stated. He was good at what he did but the Irishman still found being separated from his captain unsettling.

"So we go now. Single file. Sandra in the middle," Chris ordered.

Gritting her teeth, Sandra fell into position and tried not to sprain or break an ankle as she followed McQueen's back across the darkening field.

Ten steps and Sandra was through the entrance and plunged into an even deeper darkness. Instinctively, Sandra reached out and grabbed hold of the back of McQueen's coveralls. The older man was having difficulties of his own as he stumbled over a rock that hadn't been cleared out of the cave. Desperately, he tried to stop his fall, only to feel pain flash through his right wrist upon impact.

In a heartbeat, he'd regained his feet, experimentally moving his fingers. It hurt and he could all ready feel the wrist stiffening up but at least it didn't appear to be broken. He could still aim his weapon and pull the trigger.

Sandra had felt the invitro starting to go. She'd know that she couldn't catch him so had kept herself from joining him in the dirt.

They continued in near silence and complete black out conditions. Chris seemed to know where he was going and straining to hear any attackers, the others were content to follower.

Almost imperceptivity, Sandra slowly became aware that the black was receding to be replaced by a few dark grays. It was just enough that she was able to get some sense of her immediate surroundings but not enough that she was particularly comfortable defending her comrades from marauding fuzz balls.

A slight hissing came from the front of the line. Instantly, they all were still as statues, listening and watching, waiting for some indication of what was going on.

Moments stretched into seconds. Silence prevailed. Then the light started forward again. As Sandra followed the colonel's back and felt Harris coming up behind her, she sensed that they were passing through an intersection. Hoping Chris knew where he was leading them Sandra glanced both ways and continued on.

OOOOO

The only air shaft was about six inches in diameter. Somehow Hawkes didn't think either of them would fit. The door was solid steel. He couldn't budge it. Prying at the wall to the left, Cooper tested to see how hard it would be to dig through. Not the best alternative but the only one that presently presented itself.

"Can I help?" Father Ray asked from behind him.

"Check the other walls. See if I missed something," Hawkes instructed, concentrating on digging. They were going to only have one chance to get away. He didn't want to lose it.

Ignoring the young man's choice of words, Father Ray shuffled over to the wall to his left and quickly ran his fingers over the surface of the wall. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but he was convinced that the black veil that had dropped over his eyes was beginning to show subtle shades of gray.

OOOOO

Silently, the door slid open. Hawkes almost didn't notice he was so intent on what he was doing. Swallowing his fear, he launched himself at the figure just as it entered the room.

He was swatted aside as if he were little more than a fly. Air borne for the first four seconds, the young invitro slammed into the floor, temporarily stunning him. Stars fluttering around his head, Cooper jumped to his feet and threw himself at the creature which had turned its attention to Father Ray.

The weight on its back didn't slow it down as it caught hold of the priest's left arm and pulled him back to the pallet and the chains. With a strength he hadn't known he possessed, Ray fought the vise like grip on his arm.

Getting no reaction from the creature, Hawkes dug his fingers into its eye sockets and kicked at its legs with his dangling feet. A lucky punch to the creature's nose and Father Ray felt his arm released and he fell back to stay out of the way. Screeching, the alien twisted around and clawed at its back in an attempt to dislodge the annoyance before he got the other one for his bruised snout.

"Get behind it, Father!" Hawkes shouted as he clung by handfuls of hair to the monster's back.

Not entirely sure where behind was, the priest skirted the walls until he felt the door frame under his hand. Pausing long enough to hear where the fight was, he braced his back against the wall and ran for all he was worth.

Taken off guard, the creature hit the wall, head first. Unconscious, it slipped to the floor.

It took a moment to extricate his legs from the creature. Then Cooper had to help Father Ray to his feet. The fall had knocked the wind out of him and he was struggling to get away from the foul stench and fur.

"Here, Father," Hawkes caught his right forearm and pulled the shorter man to his feet. "We've got to go."

In the ruckus, the door had not been closed and there did not appear to be anyone else lurking in the corridor. "Keep hold of me," Cooper ordered as he headed for the door. A hand snared the back of his coveralls just before he got out of reach.

It was hard, lifting his feet to make as little sound as possible when he felt a terrible need to shuffle. The darkness had receded somewhat but not enough for him to follow Cooper. Ray had hold of the invitro's clothes with his left hand and was using his right one to feel the wall.

To Ray it seemed like an eternity. All sense of direction was lost after the third time they'd had to retrace their steps. His hand left the wall, nearly sending him sprawling before Ray was able to regain his balance. A few disorientating moments and the wall reappeared.

For his part, Hawkes was hoping fervently that he wasn't simply getting them hopelessly lost as he led them through the winding tunnels.


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Are we lost yet?" Sandra asked in a whispered voice. If it came down to her leading them back out again they were screwed. She'd long ago given up trying to keep it straight in her head.

"No," was the only reply. The need to hear another voice had been too much for her. The darkness was oppressive, leaving Sandra with the impression that she was all alone. Even the heat from McQueen's body under her finger tips could not dispel the fear.

A sense of motion off to Sandra's right stopped her in her tracks. Looking toward the place, she found an access corridor that ran perpendicular with the one they were following. In the dime light it was hard to tell exactly what was down there but she felt something pulling her to investigate.

Not taking a second to think, Sandra peeled away from the others and cautiously made her way down the access. Hagman must have been watching her. He fell in behind the woman, leaving Harris to inform the others where they were.

Twenty paces in, Sandra found an intersection. She paused long enough to pick a direction and took a left. Instinct had taken over. Rational thought had vanished almost entirely. Through a series of twists and turns, she left the small group deeper into the caves, Chris carefully plotting their course in his mind. The farther they went, the more light they found to show them the way.

Dreamlike, Sandra paced the corridors. She felt as if she were in a medieval movie. Torches lined the walls. Toward the end of the corridor they were following, doors with barred windows appeared.

Stopping at the first door, Sandra looked inside. It was a cell, complete with straw pallet and wooden bucket in the corner. No one was in residence.

"We have to check all of them," Sandra ordered. Snapping out of her revere, she turned her attention to Chris. "They need help."

"Who?" the gunfighter questioned.

"I don't know," Sandra said as an explosive headache settled between her eyes. Blinking, she glanced at her surroundings and at the men scattering to examine the cells. "I'd kill for an aspirin right now."

"Why?" Chris had gotten used to her odd statements. Evidently, she was in pain. He could see it in her eyes.

"Never mind," Sandra said, not feeling up to explaining.

"Down here," Harris called quietly from the far end of the corridor. Silently, they joined him. Stepping back, he allowed them a view of the cell. Huddled in the two visible corners were lumps of rags that didn't stir despite their presence.

"Is this the only one?" Chris asked. McQueen and Harris were working on the lock of the cell.

"There's more on the next two levels down," Sandra stated. Her eyes were watering in reaction to the pain. Absently, she wiped her hand across them. It helped for about thirty seconds.

The lock sprung, Harris and Hagman entered the room, checking the obscured corners for threats. Cautiously, Harris poked the pile of rags with the barrel of his rifle. A low moan was the only response. Hagman had gotten a similar reaction from his pile. Stepping forward, McQueen reached the pile in the right corner and began pulling the rags back until he found a head. Long, scraggly brown hair obscured the person's face. It took him a moment or two to disentangle the strands enough to find a young boy. At least he looked to be young. With his eyes closed it was hard to tell.

It had obviously been quite a while since either him or the other boy in the other corner had seen clean water they were so dirty. But it was just as obvious that they were brothers. Twins to be exact.

"Wake them up," Chris ordered. He was keeping watch at the door and was itching to be gone.

"Hey," Sandra said, gently shaking the boy's shoulder. Harris was doing the same in the other corner.

Muttering was the only response at first but the longer she kept at him, the further he came around. "Wake up," Sandra ordered, losing patience. Tension was thick in the air.

Blue eyes fluttered and came to rest on her face. "We're getting you out of here but I'm going to need you to get up and walk. Can you do that?"

"Yes," was the quiet reply. The boy's eyes were full of questions and concerns but he wanted out of the cell so badly that he didn't voice any of them. Instead, he forced his slight body to stand even though Sandra could see his legs tremble all ready with fatigue.

The twin in the other corner wasn't nearly as cooperative. Harris and McQueen had to physically pick him up to get him to his feet.

"We could leave you here," Chris growled. "It's your choice." He all ready didn't like the boy.

"You wouldn't," the boy stated. He had an arrogance that the other didn't. It was like he thought they owed him their lives, an unsettling experience.

"Try me," Chris spat back.

"Come on. There's still more people to find," Sandra interjected, catching hold of his twin as he started to crumple. "Like Father Ray and Cooper."

"What's your name?" the boy asked her as she led him out of the cell, closely following Hagman who'd taken up the lead.

"Sandra, what's yours?" she replied, keeping her voice as low as she could and still be heard. They were headed downward through a set of stairs.

"Phillipe."

OOOOO

A shadow moved off of Cooper's right. Instinctively, he jumped at it and had the source in a head lock before he realized that it was the back of a human head he was staring at. Beyond the dark blond hair, Hawkes found the long barrel of a Baker rifle pointed straight at his head. Relief made his knees weak.

"Sergeant Harper," Cooper said, releasing Ezra, who struggled to catch his breath. The young invitro felt Father Ray's grip on his coveralls loosen slightly. "Where's Colonel McQueen?"

"Looking for you and the Father, lad. Where is he?" Harper replied. Out from the shadows behind the large Irishman came Vin, Sharpe and J.D.

Carefully, Cooper grasped the priest's hand on his back and drew him around until he stood beside him. The right side of his face had bruised deeper since he'd been hit, leaving it swollen and black.

"He can't see?" Hawkes stated simply. "How long 'til you meet the others?"

Breathing normally again, Ezra paused long enough to check his watch before answering. "We have an hour. It'll take us at least that long to find our way out of here."

"Let's go."

In the lull, Vin had sidled up to Father Ray and was examining the damage done to his face. He'd come up on the priest so quietly that Ray had jumped away from him when first he'd touched the man.

"Can you see at all, Father?" Vin asked, looking into his hazel eyes.

"Shadows, nothing more." Ray's head was still pounding and he was beginning to feel nauseous but he felt better than some of the others were here. He didn't feel quite so vulnerable.

"It looks bad, Father, but once the swelling goes down, your sight might come back." He didn't believe in lying to anyone.

"I'll stay with him." Cooper was feeling a lot possessive and didn't trust anyone else to keep him safe. "Lead the way. I'm completely lost."

OOOOOO

Two levels further down, amid much complaining from Louie, the other twin, the group had released roughly twenty hum and alien prisoners and were looking for more. Of the twenty, only Philippe and Louie remained with them. The others had decided to go it alone. As much as they wished fervently that Louie would choose the alternative, they knew realistically that neither boy was capable of defending themselves or finding their way out.

For his part, Philippe was virtually silent, except for an occasional gasp when one of his numerous wounds or bruises was aggravated. Someone had taken a great deal of time and enjoyment in beating both twins. Louie got the worst of it probably because of his mouth and attitude.

"Is he really a king?" Sandra whispered close to Philippe's ear. They were travelling down yet another corridor, Sandra helping Philippe, McQueen helping Louie. The invitro colonel was the only one who didn't want to kill him.

Panting due to the unaccustomed exertion of walking, Philippe nodded his head rather than expend any more energy.

"And no one's killed him yet?" Sandra couldn't stop the comment from slipping out. Louie really was annoying.

"Not yet," Philippe breathed.

"Amazing."

The signal came from the front that they'd found another set of steps. As silently as was possible, the group descended to the next level. Immediately, they were hit by a wave of heat and noise. The air was heavy with smells, bad smells. Human sweat, excrement, fear and blood.

"Stay close," Sandra whispered, checking her revolver.

"I can take care of myself," Philippe replied. It burned him to be protected by a woman, even an armed woman.

"Not against these things you can't," Sandra responded.

The corridor was short, disgorging them into a huge cavern.

Before them was a sene from hell. Men were shackled to the walls, wearing underwear, if that, in various stages of starvation and torture. Even to her unprofessional eye, Sandra could see that some of the men were beyond help. All they could do was end their misery.

"Sweet Jesus," Chris breathed. He'd stopped just inside the entranceway and seemed welded to the spot in shock and horror. McQueen, usually so unemotional and unflappable, was white. Then slowly, his face became redder and redder.

"We have to move quickly," Sandra said, pushing by the men blocking the entrance. Turning to her right, she examined the first man she came to. He was dead after being horribly tortured. Shaking with revulsion and hatred, she moved on to the next one.

When Sandra came up to him, the man's head was down, resting against his chest. He didn't respond to her presence or as she gently grasped his head to lift it up to get a better look at his face. Startling blue eyes met hers, nearly causing her to step back. There was such hatred and defiance in those depths when first they'd met hers that it was unsettling. But that hatred was quickly replaced by surprise as realization hit him.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"A friend. Can you walk?" Harris had come up beside Sandra and was using the tip of his knife to jimmy the lock on the shackles.

"Yeah. Where are we going?" From looking at him, his short brown hair and slight build, Sandra doubted that he really could walk for any distance. But she sensed a tremendous well of determination and strength within the man.

"Out of here," Sandra replied. "I'll be back in a minute." While Harris worked, she moved on down the line.

The three men she examined next were all dead. Silently, she grieved their loss and death as she reached the last man along that wall. Catching hold of the medium length brown hair, Sandra raised his head. A soft moan responded to the movement. Hope sprung up in her. She'd seen too much death and needed some light.

"Hey," Sandra said, holding her canteen of water to the man's mouth. He'd obviously been here longer than the other man. He was dehydrated and had old wounds that were struggling to heal as well as several new ones. He had broad shoulders, narrow hips and slight but powerfully built legs. If he'd had regular meals, he'd have been strong and lithe.

The man's eyes flickered as he gulped up the water. "Take it easy," Sandra said, taking the canteen away from his lips to keep him from drowning.

"Thank you," the man muttered. Feebly, he strained against his bonds.

"Relax. We have to get the shackles undone. What's your name?" Sandra asked. Harris had jimmied the shackles holding the first man and was coming over to start again.

"Daniel Jackson, ma'am."

"Please, don't call me 'ma'am'. It makes me feel old," Sandra said.

"There's one here, Sandra," Chris called softly from across the chamber.

Briefly, she gently squeezed the man's shoulder before going to look.

Whoever picked who was brought here definitely had an eye for gorgeous men. This latest addition was no different. If he was clean and healthy, he'd be very good looking. Now, however, he looked dirty, exhausted, malnourished and pale.

As Sandra came up to him, his drawn face grimaced as a wave of pain passed through him. She didn't even have to ask him what was wrong. The man's right side was a massive bruise.

"Broken ribs?" Sandra asked once she'd reached him.

"Yeah," was the man's only reply as his face screwed up again. Even from that single word, Sandra could swear she'd heard an accent in his voice. It reminded her of an instructor she'd had in university. It didn't help her to lock down its ethnicity but that wasn't the point.

"We have to get out of here and pray the others found Father Ray and Cooper. We have too many wounded. We can't protect ourselves," Chris ordered. Hagman had been working at picking the lock on the man's shackles and finally managed to get them open.

Moaning, the man collapsed.

"We need stretchers and more people," Sandra muttered as she carefully helped the man shakily to his feet.

"We have to walk out of here," she said to him. "I won't lie to you, it's a long walk but he alternative is staying here. Are you going to be able to make it?"

"If I have to crawl," he replied, attempting to stifle another moan. In reaction to the pain, he was standing hunched over toward his affected side. Sweat had broken out across his brow beneath the brown hair.

"How can we help you?" This was all beyond Sandra's abilities. Desperately she wished Nathan was here.

"We're leaving," Chris called from the cavern entrance. Nervously, he glanced down the corridor.

Sandra turned to growl at him. At the same instant, the man wrapped his arm across her upper chest and leaned heavily into her back. Her knee jerk reaction was to elbow the guy in his bad side but she fought the urge. Sandra placed her free had over top of his and carefully took a step forward.

She could feel his breath on the right side of her face. It probably wasn't the most comfortable position for him, Sandra was at least six inches shorter than him, but he was trying to keep his moans and gasps as quiet as possible.

"What's your name?" Sandra asked quietly, a transparent attempt to distract him.

"Dusan. Dusan Cascavian."

"Hi, I'm Sandra. How did you come to be here?" They'd reached the stairs.

"I don't know." Dusan's arm tightened convulsively as he navigated the first step. I woke up here."

"Do you mean 'here' as in this dungeon or this planet?" Sandra was talking as quietly as she could.

"The dungeon. I thought it was a nightmare."

"You're right, it was."

OOOOO

Going was slow due to the need to be careful and because the wounded couldn't walk any faster. At any moment they were expecting to be discovered. The heightened attention was quickly wearing the original party down. Chris was in the lead, having memorized the route they'd taken to get in the dungeons. McQueen had a twin leaning on either arm, Louie muttered quietly in French. Hagman was next, practically carrying Daniel, although Sandra had to give the man credit. Despite his injuries he was still struggling to put one foot in front of the other. Harris brought up the rear, gently manoeuvring the other boy who was at least reasonably mobile if not cognisant, while keeping watch on their retreat.

Apparently releasing the other prisoners had created a wonderful diversion because the band didn't see a single creature during their ascent of the first four levels.

Sandra's back was beginning to ache from Dusan leaning against her. Her head was still happily clamouring but she wasn't going to complain. At least he was still mobile. She had no delusions about whether or not she could carry him.

"How are you doing?" Sandra asked. Dusan had been quiet during the last several minutes of the journey, except for his laboured breathing in her ear.

"How much further?" Dusan's arm tightened briefly as a wave of pain crashed over him. He held his breath until it passed.

"I'm not sure, but we've covered most of the distance. You know, it's better to breathe through the pain than hold it." Sandra doubted he really wanted her advice but what the hell.

"If I did that I'd scream." Another spasm gripped his side, nearly doubling him over. A load moan escaped before he could recover enough to stop it.

"Hold on," Sandra called out softly as she turned to face the man. Not knowing how to help him, she wrapped her arms around him as best she could and waited for it to pass.

It seemed to last forever, for Sandra and Dusan, as he panted and slowly collapsed to the ground. Eventually, the pain released him.

"How much further?" Sandra asked as she tried to coax Dusan back to his feet. He couldn't do it.

"Another half hour at least," Chris replied. He was painfully aware that they were very late for the rendezvous.

"He needs to rest, we all do." Sandra sat beside Dusan and placed his head across her lap. He was curled up lying on his right side, breathing heavily as he slowly recovered.

"Five minutes, that's all I can give you," Chris angrily agreed. He knew she was right but he hated to waste the time. Gratefully, the other ex-prisoners sank to the floor. The one Sandra didn't know the name of moved over to sit beside Dusan.

"I used to be a doctor. Can I look at him?" he asked Sandra.

"From what century?" Sandra couldn't help the question. It just came out. "Never mind, I'm not the one to ask."

"Dusan," he said, gently shaking his left shoulder. "Let me see."

It was agony, but Dusan got his protesting body to roll over onto his back. Tentatively, the kid, as Sandra had all ready begun calling him, palpated Dusan's injured side. It didn't take much pressure before he was hissing in pain. "Must you?" Sandra had no idea how much he'd hoped to accomplish in the dim light.

"He has two broken ribs and one that's cracked. The 10th, 11th and 12th to be exact." Dusan cried out and involuntarily moved away from the probing fingers.

"You can't do anything for him now so please stop. He's in enough pain as it is." Sandra hated to sound like a bitch but she felt it to her soul when any of them moaned or groaned.

"Okay. I just wanted to make sure none of them was going to pierce a lung," the man said.

"Good point," Sandra had to concede.

All too soon Chris was rousing them to continue the trek. He knew they'd been lucky thus far in not running into any creatures. He didn't want to push it.

"Do you need help?" Sandra asked. She was watching Dusan slowly and carefully try to gain his feet.

"Yeah," Dusan was forced to admit after a few tries. Sandra bent down, caught hold of his left arm and heaved. Dusan cried out as his side was twisted. Sandra barely managed to keep him from finding the ground again.

"Sorry," Sandra said, waiting for Dusan to get his feet under him so she could let go.

"It's okay," Dusan replied, breathing heavily. After a few false starts, he got his legs functioning again. Still holding his good arm, Sandra turned until her back was toward him. It took no urging. Dusan leaned against her and followed her down the corridor.

It was very unsettling to Sandra, feeling his breath on her cheek, the touch of his arm across her body. The warmth of his skin against her back was the hardest part to ignore. Dusan had been left with only underwear, same as the other two. Practically, Sandra wondered where they were going to find clothes for them.

Dusan had bad breath but then, Sandra supposed, so did she. Tooth brushes and tooth paste had been scarce. She felt him shift against her back. "You doing okay?" she asked. The arm across her chest had tightened convulsively.

"No," Dusan got out. His face was buried into the nape of her neck as he rode the wave of pain. She stopped walking as he sagged into her.

"Don't let go," Sandra ordered. "We're almost there!" She was fighting panic. If he collapsed or went unconscious, there was no way they would move him. They'd have to leave him and try to get back with help before the creatures found him.

Gradually, the spasm released its grip. "Go," Dusan whispered. He had no idea how much longer he could remain vertical and didn't want to be left behind.

Their speed was cut in half. Sandra could feel Chris's impatience but she wasn't about to push. The other four ex-prisoners were also beginning to feel the effects of the long walk thus far. They'd been lucky thus far and not run into any of the creatures.

Of course, that kind of luck couldn't last.

_A/N_

_Hello! Thanks, as always for sticking with me. I finally had to get another computer. My other one wasn't cooperating any more._

_In case you didn't figure it out, Philippe and Louie are Leonardo DiCaprio's characters in "The Man with the Iron Mask." Daniel Jackson is from "Stargate SG1", Dusan is from "Space Island One", and the unnamed character is from "Switchback". I just can't help myself. If you know them or don't, don't worry. They won't be around for long. I realized I got carried away and cut quite a few people out in the next transition. Please stick with me to find out who survives the cut!_

_Bye for now._

_Susanne_


	19. Chapter 19

_Happy New Year! I hope everyone had a good one. Mine was both good and bad. Oh well, such is life. As always I'm sorry this took so long. I'll try desperately to do better next time! Thank you ever so much for sticking with me. I know this is a weird story and it's about to get weirder. HeHeHe._

_Bye for now._

_Susanne_

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Chris, then McQueen and the twins, passed through an intersection. Just as Hagman and Daniel started through, a hairy paw reached out from the corridor to their right and cuffed the struggling man, sending him flying into the corner of the wall.

McQueen was on the creature in an instant, his weapon flashing. The ones that could joined in the melee. Sandra backed toward the wall to brace Dusan and kept watch over the corridor they'd just come down. She also tried to keep Dusan upright, his strength was giving out.

It seemed that they were about to lose. McQueen had taken another shot to the wrist and was forced to use the wrong hand to aim and fire his weapon. Six more bodies crowded the corridor and the fighting intensified.

As Sandra glanced to her left to see how things were going, Sandra spotted Father Ray trying to stay out of the way. Hope soaring in her, she took a deep breath and yelled to him above the din. "Over here, father!"

Watching Ray come toward her, Sandra was instantly struck by the fact that he didn't seem to be completely aware of what was going on around him. He was feeling his way long the wall. When he was within distance, Sandra grabbed his arm and drew him beside her.

"It's good to know you're all right," Father Ray said into Sandra' sear as she scanned the deserted corridor, making sure no one else was going to join the fight. Ray had to get close because the fight, although winding down, was still very loud.

"You too, father." Dusan was beginning to slide down Sandra's back. She sensed that he was only semi-conscious. "Can you help me? Dusan here's injured."

Hesitantly, Father Ray touched the man's shoulder. "What's wrong with him?"

Before Sandra had a chance to respond, the creature crashed into them. There was no time to prepare. Dusan took as much of the impact as the other two. Consciousness vanished as pain exploded anew.

Sandra's gun was still in her hand but it was pinned between her body and that of the creature. It was still alive but wounded as it frantically tried to scramble to its feet. Aware of Father Ray on her left side and Dusan moaning underneath her, Sandra used every ounce of strength she possessed to extricate the weapon. Once it was clear, she aimed it into the base of the creature's skull.

The report of the gun firing so close to her own head temporarily deafened Sandra as her face was spattered with gore.

The creature twitched several times before becoming still. Then it was being heaved off of them. Sandra could see Chris's and Harper's lips moving as she jumped to her feet to get off of Dusan but she couldn't hear anything except a loud ringing. Shaking her head, Sandra spun around to check on the two men beneath her. Dusan, while unconscious and still moaning, did not appear to have been injured any worse than he was before.

Hands gripped Sandra and turned her around again. The young doctor, his face etched with concern, was wiping at the blood and brains that peppered Sandra's face. His lips were moving as he asked her questions but she still couldn't hear anything except ringing. Trying not to yell, as was her instinct, Sandra shook her head and said, "I can't hear anything you're saying right now so save it."

None too gently, the doctor turned her head to either side and looked intently at her ears.

"Are you happy now? Can we go now before more of them show up?" Sandra grated.

The command had all ready been given. Hawkes had Father Ray following behind him while Harper had picked up Dusan, much as he would a child on a piggy back ride so as to not aggravate his ribs. Hawkes kept a hand on the unconscious man's back to keep him from falling. The doctor tried to lead Sandra since she couldn't hear danger coming but she shook his hand off and joined Harper.

In formation, they headed out, Vin in the lead and the others falling in behind. Harris and Hagman brought up the rear.

OOOOO

The sunlight was dazzling after all the time in the tunnels. Blinking quickly, Sandra nearly stumbled into Sharper before she caught herself. There was no real place to hide. The sun was just coming up over the valley edge. It helped to create long shadows but not long enough to hide sixteen people. Luckily, as before, the release of the other prisoners had drastically reduced the number of guards.

Ten feet from the cave entrance, two creatures fell on them. With their combined efforts, the group made quick work of them. Then they were scrambling up the right side of the valley wall, the opposite one they'd come down.

The ringing in Sandra's ears had diminished by the time she clawed her way up the time Sandra clawed her way up the edge of the wall. Vin pulled her up the rest of the way.

Somehow, somewhere along the line, they'd picked up the missing members again, Perkins, Josiah, Nathan and Buck. The other three had simply disappeared entirely.

OOOOO

They travelled until the wounded couldn't do it anymore. The terrain had changed into a coniferous forest, in almost a blink of an eye. Chris called a halt in a particularly dense area. Two trees had fallen over, their shallow roots created natural dips in an otherwise flat terrain.

Despite the ache in his shoulders, Harper set Dusan down in one of the holes, to protect him and keep him warm. Her hearing returned, Sandra heard the low moan. She wanted to go to him, to make sure Dusan was all right but she didn't. She let the doctor look at him first.

During their retreat, Ezra had come across some clothes, little more than rags, but they were better than what the ex-prisoners were currently wearing. The fits were far from perfect, though no one was complaining.

"How are your ears?" the kid asked Sandra after he was done with Dusan.

"Fine. What is your name, anyway? I'm tired of thinking of you as 'the kid'," Sandra stated.

"My name's Lane," the doctor responded. He was suddenly looking very tired.

"Are you really a doctor?" Sandra had to know if she was going to surrender her friends to this man.

Rather than speak, Lane simply nodded his head, yes.

"In that case, there is one more person I'd like you to see before you rest." Sandra's hand on her arm, she drew Lane across the make-shift camp to where Father Ray was sitting with his back against a tree. "I think he's blind."

Wearily, Lane sank to the ground beside the priest and began examining his bruised temple.

"It's okay, Father. He's a doctor," Sandra said to reassure the man before he jumped away from being touched.

"Are they going to come after us?" Father Ray asked no one in particular. In the cell, not being able to see was scary. Here, out in the open, it was absolutely terrifying.

"Probably," Sandra replied. After the aliens had gone to all this trouble to bring these men here, she doubted very much that they would just let them go without a fight. The reasoning behind dragging these people, including the ones working in the mines, had escaped her. Evidently, one of the main criteria was being male and incredibly good looking. Sandra considered herself to be a fluke or accident since she, obviously, didn't fit into either category.

"I can't be sure, but I think his sight should come back after the swelling goes down. A cat scan would be nice but I don't seem to have the facilities," Lane said, his examination complete.

Offering the exhausted man a hand, Sandra pulled him to his feet when he couldn't quite make it.

Hawkes seemed to come out of nowhere and sat down beside the priest, close enough that the man could feel his presence and body heat. "Get some sleep, Father," he said quietly over his shoulder.

"Where do you want to bed down?" Sandra asked. Lane was leaning on her arm. She hadn't realized just how tired he really was.

"Anywhere," was the exhausted reply.

"Follow me, doctor." Sandra led the man back to where Dusan and Daniel were lying in the depression. Without hesitation, Lane lay down beside Daniel and was sound asleep in a heartbeat.

Scanning the camp, Sandra was satisfied that everything would function perfectly without her. So she carefully lay down beside Dusan. For reasons that were beyond her, the injured man had propped himself up on his affected side. It looked very painful but he was sleeping soundly enough. Then she too was asleep.

OOOOO

"How long can we afford to let them rest?" Vin asked. He , Sharpe and Chris were sitting off to the side of the camp. A fire was out of the question as much as he would have liked one.

"As long as we can," Chris replied. He was anxiously looking around beyond the trees, waiting for the attack he knew would be coming.

"We'll give them a couple of hours. Those of us who are able to will keep watch."

OOOOO

The day passed quickly. Chris had tried to rouse his people and get them moving after the specified three hours but most of them were just not able to do it. The decision was made to spend the day resting. They they'd move out once it got dark. Sharpe and Chris were both hoping that the creatures wouldn't be searching for them at night.

An hour before sunset, the camp began to rouse itself. Louie was one of the first up and immediately started mumbling to himself in French. Sandra followed soon after. The sound of the young man's voice was making her homesick. Her father was French Canadian. While he hardly ever spoke the language, it still made her think of him.

Sometime during the day, Dusan had rolled onto his back. Sandra found herself lying against his right side. Although, he didn't seem to be complaining, she cautiously eased her body away from him. Stiffly, she gained her feet and stretched, looking around the camp. Most of the others were up and about. The only exceptions were the three ex-prisoners, still soundly sleeping.

Supper consisted of jerky and water since they didn't want to take the chance of cooking. Leaning down into the depression, Sandra cautiously shook Dusan's good shoulder and waited for him to come around. When no response was forthcoming, she shook harder until a low groan came from the man. "Dusan, wake up and eat this. We're on the move in half an hour," she ordered.

Once Sandra was satisfied the man was awake and eating, she headed over to where she'd spied Sharpe and Chris. It seemed like it had been a very long time since she'd seen him last. Taking a bite out of her own jerky, she sank down beside the blond captain.

"How are you feeling?" Sandra asked, smiling brightly at him.

"Fine, lass, how are you?" Sharpe replied, returning her smile.

"I'll live. Why wasn't I awakened for my turn on watch?" Chris had nodded a hello and then set off to roust the camp.

"There were enough bodies to cover watches last night. Tonight, you won't be so lucky," Sharpe replied. The smile still played on his lips.

"Where are we headed?" Sandra asked. The jerky was gone and so was most of the water that had been given to her.

"Anywhere but here," Chris stated as he came up behind the duo. "We're moving in five minutes."

"Could you help me with the wounded, captain?" Sandra asked as she climbed to her feet.

"Why would you need help?" Sharpe asked. He couldn't once remember the woman asking for help.

"There's too many of them. I need help keeping them mobile."

OOOOO

Two hours into the trek, it was getting harder and harder to make any headway. The dark was hampering the group's progress significantly, as was the slowness of the injured parties. Chris was quickly becoming frustrated. At the rate they were going, by dawn they would have covered only five miles and not the fifteen he'd intended.

The group was walking in fours so that the wounded could be in the center. Harper was carrying Dusan at this point the man couldn't walk any more. As it was, even in the large Irishman's arms the young man was barely conscious. Sharpe was leading Father Ray, a hand on the captain's shoulder and Lane. The young doctor was better than the rest of them. He was using the excuse to stay close to the rifleman. The cast concerned him and he wanted to keep an eye on the captain without being obvious about it.

For her part, Sandra was helping Daniel and Philippe along. While their bruises were beginning to heal, other ones were starting to come out.

"What exactly is going on here?" Daniel asked.

"We're walking," Sandra supplied helpfully.

"That really clears things up," the young man muttered under his breath. Everyone in the group had a hard edge about them that reminded him of Jack O'Neil, his commanding officer. The only exception that he'd noticed was the blind man the blond captain was leading.

"We have assumptions but no facts. The only real fact I know is that we've all been kidnapped and put here," was the reply. She'd heard him.

"Where is 'here'?" Relief flowed through Daniel. It had been terrifying, waking up in that hell hole with that cat woman pawing at him, and not knowing what was going on. Any knowledge this woman could give him was welcome.

"A planet, I'm assuming. We've travelled too far and seen too many different landscapes for it to be anything else."

"Could it be a holodeck like in Star Trek?" Daniel asked. The look of shock on the woman's face made him laugh.

"Sorry," Sandra said, quickly recovering her composure. "I've gotten used to being around people who don't get my jokes. Apparently, we're from the same time.

"And no, I don't think it's a holodeck or that Mr. Scott is going to transport us out of here anytime soon."

"I can always hope."

OOOOO

They traveled for four days without seeing a single creature. The forests were replaced on the fourth afternoon by grassland that quickly gave way to a cliff. Just as the lead walkers reached it, the fog came crashing down.

"Damn," Sandra swore. Philippe had jumped when the wall hit, losing contact with her arm. On her other side Daniel's hand clenched tighter on her left forearm.

"Captain?" Sandra could hear Patrick call out a short distance away.

"Keep hold of me, Daniel. People disappear in the fog," Sandra instructed, pawing the air to her right in an attempt to find Philippe. All she felt was the moist fog.

"Philippe!" Sandra called out. Rather than get lost, she stayed where she was.

No answer was forthcoming. "Damn," she said again. Convulsively, she caught hold of Daniel's hand with her right hand. "Follow me."

Voices sounded in the fog, but not enough of them. Terrified, Sandra headed to the nearest voice, Captain Sharpe.

"Sandra," the captain called. He had the rest of his people with him, including Lane, but none of the others. They were gone. Desperately, he hoped the woman wasn't among the vanished.

"Coming, just keep talking and we'll find you," Sandra responded, relief flowing through her at the sound. At least Sharpe was still here.

"Who's with you?" Patrick asked from the wall of fog.

"Daniel." Sandra had to stop. Her voice caught in her throat.

The fog parted and they were standing with the riflemen and Lane. "Is this all?" Sandra's throat constricted at the thought of the others lost in the mist, even though she had the feeling that they weren't lost. All she could do was hope that they were back where they belonged.

"Yes, lass. The lad I was carrying disappeared from my arms when the fog appeared," Harper stated. He was still pretty shaken up and just managed to keep himself from hugging the woman.

"What now?" Daniel asked. The cold was getting into his bones and he'd begun to shiver uncontrollably. His hand trembling, he tried to pull the rags around his body a little tighter.

"We keep walking," Sharpe replied. Absently, he thrust his bedroll into the boy's free hand. Sandra still had a death grip on Daniel's other one.

"What about the others?" Lane asked. Harris draped his blanket over the young man's shoulders.

"They're gone," Sharpe growled. Tired of the discussion and missing Chris's presence all ready, the captain turned in the direction they'd been headed and set off. Instantly, the remaining members fell in step behind him, weapons at the ready.

OOOOO

The fog made keeping track of time difficult. Sounds were virtually non-existent. By now, Sandra figured she should be used to it but she wasn't. The group travelled tighter packed than they normally would for fear of getting lost.

Soaked to the bone, Sandra concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping an eye out for anything with fur. Food was becoming scarce.

"Where's Mr. Scott when you need him?" Sandra muttered to herself.

"Working in engineering," was Daniel's quiet reply.

"Figures." A signal from the front brought them to a standstill. They were in the middle so they couldn't tell what was going on. Daniel wasn't sure he wanted to know.

The fog parted. Before them spread to the horizon, lay a vast body of water below the steep cliffs. It was a breathtaking scene after the drudgery of the mists.

A quarter of a mile out sat a boat. It wasn't huge by any stretch of the imagination when compared to the ships of the twentieth century. But it was still large. It took Sandra a moment to figure out what was bothering her about it. Then it hit her. The ship was made of wood and there were no smoke stacks evident, only sails.

"It's one of ours, sir!" Harris exclaimed excitedly. The ensign of the Royal Navy flew above the ship's deck. All ready activity could be seen as men raced to lower a boat, crowd on board and start rowing toward the shore.

"We'll go down and meet them. Hagman, Harris and Sandra, I want you up here, ready to defend us if needs be," Captain Sharpe ordered as he carefully scanned the cliff face to find a way down.

Perkins, Harper and Sharpe handed the trio any cartridges and power that they still possessed after making sure their own rifles were loaded. With the captain in the front, followed shortly by Daniel, Lane and Perkins, they made good time scaling down the rock face.

Cautiously, Sharpe led his small group onto the beach and waited patiently for the boat to land while staying within the Baker rifle's range. As the boat came closer, he recognized the uniforms of the two officers sitting in the rear of craft as those of the Royal Navy. Maybe, just maybe, they may actually be in the right place again.

Quickly, Harper fussed with his captain's uniform and his own to make them a little more presentable. The last several weeks had been hard on them.

The boat ran aground and was efficiently pulled onto shore. Presently, Captain Richard Sharpe found before him two of the youngest looking officers he could currently remember seeing. One was tall and lanky with brown wavy hair and piercing brown eyes. The other was three or four inches shorter with blond hair and blue eyes. Richard suddenly felt very old.

"Captain Richard Sharpe of His Majesty's 95th Rifles," he stated.

"Midshipmen Horatio Hornblower and Archie Kennedy of His Majesty's frigate Indefatigable. What are you doing here, sir?" the taller one asked. The soldiers had obviously been through many battles but their presence here made no sense.

"We're not entirely sure. May my men and I come aboard your vessel?" Somehow it seemed a better idea than wandering back through the fog.

"Including the three men on the cliffs, sir?" Hornblower responded. He wanted the rifleman to know that he'd been aware of the men lying on the cliff's edge, their rifles trained at them.

"Yes," Sharpe said. He'd decided to keep Sandra's sex a secret again. The frigate's captain may not want an armed female wandering his decks.

"Certainly, sir. Captain Pellew would be most interested in the story of how you came to be here."

Waving at Hagman, Sharpe indicated that they could join them before turning his attention back to the naval officers. Mr. Kennedy was looking at Daniel and Lane with open scepticism. Sharpe couldn't say that he blamed him.

"Have you had any run-ins with fog, Mr. Hornblower?" Sharpe asked.

"Fog, sir?" Horatio was beginning to doubt the captain's mental capacity.

"Never mind."

The trio had scaled the cliff face and moved to join their companions. Sandra hung at the back with Lane and Daniel. She knew instinctively that Sharpe had covered for her but she didn't feel she could trust the men from the boat. A few of them gave her a mild case of the creeps. She wasn't sure if it was simple fear or because they really were creepy. She couldn't immediately tell.

"What's going on?" Sandra whispered to Lane since he was closest to her.

"We're going aboard the ship," the young doctor answered, speaking as equally low. Panic flashed over the woman's face before she could stop it. It was replaced by an impassable mask almost immediately.

"These are my chosen men," Sharpe was saying, indicating the green jacketed figures. "I would like to keep them with me at all times if that's possible, sir."

"We will have to see what can be arranged once we're on board, sir. Are you ready to proceed?" Horatio responded, his face carefully neutral.

"Lead the way."

_A/N Yeah, I know. I couldn't resist bringing in Horatio from the Hornblower series. That meant getting rid of the others and I didn't want to just kill them or something. Besides, it kind of adds to the mystery of things, doesn't it?_


	20. Chapter 20

_Hello! You're still there right? It's taken me so long to update this story the last few months I wouldn't be surprised if you got bored with it. I'm really sorry. I'm hoping to do better but all I can hope for is to update once a week. Maybe._

_Anyway, if you're still there, thanks for sticking with me. I really do appreciate it!_

_Lastly, I feel I should warn you that there is a scene with implied sexual abuse. I don't get graphic but I wanted to let you know in advance._

_Bye for now!_

_Susanne_

CHAPTER TWENTY

It took two trips, the men at the oars pulling hard to get the eight of them aboard the frigate. Sharpe, Daniel, Lane and Sandra were in the first load, the others in the second.

"Captain Pellew, may I present Captain Richard Sharpe of the 95th rifles and his chosen men," Horatio said upon getting the together on the top deck.

The captain of the Indefatigable looked at each person in turn, as though taking stock of their character. His eyes lingered on Sandra longer than the others. She continued to stare stoically just over his left shoulder.

"Welcome aboard, Captain. You are the first people we have met on this unknown shore," Pellew stated finally, nodding his head at the rugged man before him. The unit had seen hard times. Their uniforms in various states of disrepair and their faces and bodies lean from limited food. The two men in the rags had been even more badly treated. Bruises well on the way of healing showed through gaps in the clothes.

"Thank you, Captain Pellew. We are happy to be among our countrymen again. In our journeys we have met many people and other things beyond imagining." Sharpe wasn't sure how much to tell the man. If he hadn't lived through it, he wouldn't believe it either.

"Please, Captain Sharpe, come below where we may discuss this matters in comfort. Your men will be seen to," Pellew suggested. Used to being obeyed, the captain climbed off the top deck and headed below. The captain of the riflemen was ushered below by the first and second lieutenant of the ship, leaving the others standing on deck feeling very out of place.

"Well, lads, let's get you settled below and see what the cook may have," Horatio suggested, smiling. The big Irishman returned his smile but the others simply looked at him dully, suddenly extremely tired.

"Lead the way, sir," Harper stated. He just barely stopped himself from placing a protective hand on Sandra's back as they followed the two midshipmen below decks, away from curious eyes.

Sandra had thought the deck was crowded with interested crew members and men that were on duty and had verged on panic the entire time. But below decks was even worse. Animals and people were packed in places that were smaller than most jail cells. The smell was overwhelming and the noise deafening. She felt as though she was drowning in sensory overload. Lane and Daniel were behind her, having similar problems. The young scholar stumbled in the half light and fell into her back.

Taken by surprise, Sandra went sprawling, Daniel on top of her. Voices raised around them, some in laughter. Looking around as Harper extracted the weight off her back Sandra found a pair of shoes a few feet away from her.

"What do we have here?" a menacing voice growled from above her.

"They're riflemen. The captain said to make them comfortable, Mr. Simpson," Horatio stated.

Harper caught hold of Sandra under the arms and hauled her to her feet. She found a blond man with cruel blue eyes staring down at her. Radar and alarms went off in her head. Unconsciously, Sandra took a step backward to put more distance between them and nearly went sprawling again.

"Where are we supposed to put them?" Mr. Simpson demanded.

"We can move the hammocks around and make room. Their captain wants them to stay together," Horatio responded.

Briefly, Sandra wandered why only Mr. Hornblower was speaking. Then she caught the expression on Mr. Kennedy's face. The boy appeared to be on the verge of becoming violently ill. His face was white as a sheet and he was staring at the floor with terror and pain in his blue eyes. The situation sent her nerves on end. With a sinking feeling, Sandra knew what transpired between the two seamen. Her blood began to boil.

"Fine, whatever you like." Disinterested, Simpson turned to leave. Then he turned back to face the blond midshipman. "I need help, Mr. Kennedy. Come with me."

"The captain ordered both of us to stow these men away, Mr. Simpson," Hornblower said. There was a hard edge to the man's voice that hadn't been there before.

Sensing something going on under the surface, Harper began guiding his people forward. The last one to pass them, he placed a hand on the young midshipman's arm and moved him after them. Before he joined them, Harper glanced back at Simpson and witnessed the flash of hatred and something else in his eyes. He would have to keep an eye on that one.

OOOOO

"It's not much but it's the only space left," Horatio said, indicated the cleared out corner.

"It'll do just fine, sir. Thank you," Harper responded.

"Stow your gear and rest for a while. We'll let you know when the meal is ready."

"Thank you, sir." The two officers left.

There was no real privacy in the corner. Harper hadn't expected any. After all, this was a ship crewed entirely by men. Why would there be? As inconspicuously as he could, he rigged up a blanket to cut off the view of the bucket they were to use to relieve themselves at night. For all intents and purposes, it looked as though he were trying to get the blanket to dry.

Between the lot of them they didn't have much gear to put away. They'd been traveling light when the fog hit the last time. In a matter of minutes, they were standing about, staring at the four rows of hammocks.

"Are we really supposed to sleep on those?" Sandra asked quietly. Her lack of accent would be noticed immediately so she'd decided to talk as little as possible.

"Aye, lad, it would appear so. You take the top one. I'll sleep below you," the big Irishman said, indicating the first row beside the ship's hull.

As the group sorted itself out and began to settle down, Hagman placed a reassuring hand on the woman's arm. She was clearly terrified. "We'll keep you safe," he stated.

"Thanks, Daniel, but I plan on keeping myself safe," Sandra replied. Propping her rifle against the hull beside her bed, she slipped into the hammock with some difficulty, her sheathed bayonet in her hand.

Shaking his head at her stubbornness, the Chestershire man climbed into his own hammock and was promptly sleeping lightly. Soon the others followed.

OOOOO

His conference with Captain Pellew complete, Lieutenant Chad led Captain Sharpe down to where his men were berthed. Thanking the man, Sharpe stowed his backpack, propped his rifle up beside Sandra's and then he settled into the hammock beside the young woman's. As he turned in the hammock to pull his legs in, he glanced at Sandra's face and was startled to find her, Harper and Hagman looking at him from their various positions.

"Get some sleep," Sharpe ordered, recovering his composure. "We're among friends here."

"Are you sure about that, sir?" Harper inquired quietly.

"Yes, Patrick. I am."

OOOOO

The longer she lay in the hammock, the worse she felt. Even the knowledge that it was motion sickness did little to assuage the nausea. Forcing her eyes open, Sandra quickly closed them again. The view of the ceiling swinging back and forth had been nearly too much for her. A few breaths and the bile retreated. "Great, just great," she growled to herself.

"What's wrong, Sean?" Sandra heard from below her.

"I'm seasick," she managed from between clenched teeth.

Quiet chuckles floated to her ears. If she hadn't felt so rotten, Sandra would have joined them. Someone moved up beside her and a large hand came to rest on her forehead. Her skin was cold and clammy to the touch.

"Until this passes, lad, we'd better move you into the lower bunk so you can reach the bucket," Harper said.

The thought of a pressing weight hanging down over top of her nearly panicked Sandra but she let the Irishman slip his hands under her back and legs and lift her up.

"I'm really hating this, you know," she growled.

"I know, lad, I know," Patrick replied, grinning broadly at her as he gently deposited her into his hammock. Then he moved the bucket over to the side of the bed.

"One of us will stay with you at all times, Sean." Harper had filled Sharpe in on Mr. Simpson. He trusted the big man's judgement and chose to err on the side of caution.

"Why? So they can watch me throw up?" The nausea came back with a vengeance. Leaning over the side of the cloth, she just reached the bucket before it hit full force.

OOOOO

Nightfall. The living quarters were beyond being crowded since there was only a skeleton crew above decks. Sandra desperately wanted fresh air and open spaces but didn't have the strength to lift her head, much less traverse the distance to the steps leading upward.

"How are you feeling?" Sandra didn't recognize the voice so she had to open her eyes. Blinking several times, she gradually came to see Mr. Kennedy kneeling beside her hammock.

"Fine. Thank you, sir." Sandra had the presence of mind to lower her voice and throw in a slight British accent. The riflemen were eating with the seamen. She'd asked that they'd not bring any food near her and so they were staying as far as possible.

"You're not fine. Do you want me to get the doctor?" The boy was genuinely concerned. She found it touching.

"No, sir, it's sea sickness, that's all. I'll be all right in a little while."

"Are you sure?" Mr. Kennedy pressed.

"Positive, sir. Thank you." Sleep was slamming down on her. She'd spent the last three hours retching. It was catching up with her.

"All right. Sleep as much as you can. It'll help." The young midshipman stood up and headed for the midshipmen's birth and his own supper. He noticed that the riflemen were intent on seeing what he was doing without seeming to care.

OOOOO

Sandra was dimly aware of the others coming to their hammocks but she couldn't summon the strength to respond. An arm slipped under her head. Then a cup was held to her lips. Greedily, she drank what she could before falling asleep again.

OOOOO

"You've been avoiding me, boy."

Fighting the darkness, Sandra tried to force her mind awake.

"Please, Jack." Sandra recognized Mr. Kennedy's voice. It was pleading.

A new sound came to her. What it was she couldn't tell. Someone groaned. Bolting upright, she inspected the room and found herself to be alone. Sea sickness forgotten, Sandra gained her feet, padded around the wall her hammock was anchored to and stopped dead. The sound she had heard was a piece of rope with a tight knot on the end of it falling across bare skin with every ounce of strength the man with his back to her could muster. Even from the back, she knew who the man was.

Growling deep in her throat, Sandra discovered she held her bayonet in her hand. Unsheathing it, she advanced on the man. He'd stopped beating the boy and had started something else, she could hear Kennedy moaning. Ice had settled into her stomach.

Simpson was still completely unaware of Sandra's presence. Slowly, she moved to his right so she could get a better view of what was going on.

Crossing the distance between them in a heartbeat, Sandra slipped the long knife around his hip until it came to rest just underneath his engorged member. He stopped instantly.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't cut it off," Sandra growled, not bothering to hide her voice.

"I'll kill you," Simpson growled back. She was standing directly behind him so he couldn't back up or go forward.

"Not before you bleed to death, asshole." Using the knife to guide him, Sandra forced Simpson to move away from Kennedy, whose hands were tied to the table.

"You wouldn't dare." Simpson hoped reverently that he was right.

"Try me." Sandra got him facing the wall. Reaching up, she caught hold of the man's ponytail and used it to smash his head against the wood as hard as she could. Gratified, she felt him slip to the ground. Just to make sure, she kicked him solidly in the head.

The boy was tied on his stomach, his breeches down around his ankles and his shirt and jacket gone. Sandra used the bayonet to cut the ropes holding him. It wasn't until she rolled him onto his side that she discovered that he was still conscious.

"It's okay, Mr. Kennedy," she said trying to reassure him. The shame and pain in his blue eyes broke her heart. "This wasn't your fault. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Did you kill him?" Kennedy asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

"No, I didn't. I don't think he's worth either one of us hanging." Collecting the ropes, she took them over to where Simpson lay and used them to bind the man exactly as he was. His pants were undone and he was bleeding from where Sandra's knife had broken through the skin.

"Would you allow me to clean your back?" Sandra asked, coming up beside him. The boy was still laying on the table, the picture of misery.

"You're a woman," Kennedy stated. He hadn't even bothered to try to pull his clothes back on.

"Yes, I am. I do have some medical knowledge and will do what I can. With any luck, you won't have to go see the doctor," Sandra said. Quickly, she searched the midshipmen's berth for clean water and clothes.

"You do know that he's the sick one here, don't you?" Picking up her finds, Sandra carried them over to him. "You've done nothing wrong so please don't blame yourself."

"I let him do it," Archie responded, his voice desolate.

"He had to beat you first. I wouldn't call that letting him. Besides, you chose to do the hardest thing. You survived. That took a lot of guts, believe me, I know." As gently as she could, Sandra washed the welts on his back. Simpson took a great deal of pleasure from the boy's pain. She wanted desperately to inflict some on him.

"How do you know?" Kennedy wished to find a hole and climb into it.

"I was three years old the first time a man tried to have sex with me. I was twelve and a half the last time they tried against my will," Sandra answered simply. The welts were going to be sore but they should heal well. Cautiously, she used the cloth to clean the other damage Simpson had done. The boy shuddered at her touch. She thought she heard a quiet sob but she chose to ignore it until she'd finished. With a little effort, she got his underclothes and his pants pulled up and fastened. "I'd kill him if I thought it would ease your pain."

Stiffly, Archie sat up and then wrapped his arms around her. Tenderly, Sandra rocked him back and forth until he stopped crying. The boy didn't make a sound the whole time but he eventually sagged in her arms.

"Are you on duty?" Sandra asked.

"No," was the quiet reply.

"Good. I'll help you to your hammock so you can sleep." The boy drew away from her. "He'll never touch you again, Mr. Kennedy. I promise you that."

As she helped the young man into his shirt and picked up his jacket, Sandra could tell that he didn't believe her. She decided to prove him wrong. Thus far their luck had been good and no one else had come below. Sandra was grateful for that as she settled the injured man into his hammock and pulled his blanket over him. "Sleep. I'll be watching Simpson."

OOOOO

The first person to come below was Mr. Hornblower. He'd noticed the absence of the two men and had become concerned. The cruelty of Mr. Simpson was known to him, even if the full extent of it was not. Upon entering the midshipmen's berth, he noticed the boy that had been seasick the previous day sitting on the edge of the table, an evil looking knife resting across his legs. Then he saw the figure huddled on the floor, bound and gagged with the man's own whip.

"What has happened here?" Horatio exclaimed. There was a hard glint in the boy's eyes.

"I caught Mr. Simpson here attempting an unnatural act on Mr. Kennedy."

"Is he all right?" The concern on the officer's face was genuine. She decided he was okay.

"Mr. Kennedy? He'll be fine in a couple of days. Mr. Simpson on the other hand, will hopefully have suffered some brain damage from multiple blows to the head." Sandra was tired of the charade all ready. She spoke in her own voice and watched surprise register on the boy's face.

"How many times was he hit?" the boy was strange. There was an intensity, control and maturity that didn't quite fit. The accent and the voice were wrong too.

"I stopped counting after four." Every time the man had moved or moaned, she'd kicked him in the head.

"You could be brought up on charges for attacking a superior officer." Secretly Horatio applauded what the boy had done and wished he'd been there to sit it. Discipline had to be maintained, however.

"That would require two things to be true." Sandra continued to regard the tall, dark haired midshipman with calm, steady eyes.

"What would those be?"

"The first thing would be that I joined the navy or the arm, which I haven't. The second would be that I was a man, which I'm not." Simpson stirred. Standing up, she crossed over to him and kicked him, hard.

"Is Captain Sharpe aware of this?" Horatio blurted. It was the only thing he could think to say.

"Yes, he knows."

Someone entered the room behind Hornblower. Turning, he found the senior rifleman and the big Irishman standing in the doorway.

"What did you do?" Sharpe demanded. The last time he'd seen the woman she'd been flat on her back sick. She really was far too independent.

"What I had to."


	21. Chapter 21

_Howdy! Thank you ever so much for sticking around for this. I know it's VERY Mary Jane-ish. Sometimes it really embarrasses me. What the hell was I thinking? As much as I'd like to edit this, this is the story I came with ten years ago. I hope you continue to enjoy it anyway!_

_Susanne_

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

"What are we going to do with him?" Sandra asked.

The midshipman was in an unenviable position. He was still tied and gagged but awake. The other midshipmen, including Kennedy and Sharpe's people were standing around him, glaring at him.

"Throw him overboard?" Lane suggested.

"I don't suppose you have any cement shoes, do you?" Sandra asked Horatio.

"Cement shoes?" Horatio parroted, looking at Sandra oddly.

"Never mind."

"We could tell Captain Pellew," an older man by the name of Clayton suggested.

"No," Archie responded quickly. He felt badly enough that there were so many witnesses to his shame.

"How long before he goes on watch?" Sharpe asked. The glint in Sandra's eyes made him nervous. She appeared perfectly prepared to kill the man. He understood her reaction to what Simpson had done, just not the intensity.

"Ten hours," Horatio answered.

"Leave him as he is until then. Let him explain what happened to him," Sharpe stated. Kneeling beside Simpson, he placed his bayonet against his throat. "If I hear of you ever hurting anyone again, I'm going to skin you alive and feed you to the fish. Do you understand?"

Glaring daggers at the captain, Simpson slowly nodded his head, yes.

"Good." Grinning evilly, Sharpe slugged Simpson in the stomach. Satisfied, the captain stood up and turned to Sandra. "We need to have a talk."

OOOOO

"You have to stop doing these things," Sharpe growled. He'd hauled the woman above deck as far from other people as possible and was talking quietly to her.

"I couldn't just let him rape the boy. At least I didn't kill him," Sandra responded.

"Sandra, if Captain Pellew finds out that you're a woman, he may decide you're a witch and have you burned at the stake or hung from the yard arm."

At first Sandra thought Sharpe was kidding but the fear in his eyes proved to her he wasn't. "I had to help him. When I was a child I knew a lot of men like Simpson. No one protected me, no one helped me. No one told me it wasn't my fault. I couldn't turn my back on what was going on just to hide who I am."

"I'm sorry." Sharpe felt a need to hold Sandra, to protect her.

"It was a long time ago, captain. I try not to dwell on it. I'm successful most of the time," Sandra responded. "Why do I have to keep pretending? The midshipmen know."

"I've all ready told you," Sharpe said. It took an effort to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"At this point I'm tempted to fry instead of being someone I'm not."

OOOOO

By the time Mr. Simpson was due on shift, the midshipmen had cut his bonds so he could get cleaned up. After so many hours, his hands and feet were swollen and asleep and his back was sore. But he got no sympathy from his fellow sailors. His head pounded mercilessly after being hit so much and his right eye was swollen shut.

The first thing Simpson did was look at the damage the woman had caused him. While minor, it was extremely painful. For as long as he'd been a midshipman, Jack Simpson had been the one in charge. In one day that woman had destroyed his hold over the men. He was going to have to change that.

Climbing on deck, Simpson tried to not draw attention. Feeling had returned to his hands and feet and he wished it hadn't. The pain was incredible. Stuffing his discoloured hands in his pants pockets, he took his position and planned his revenge.

OOOOO

"How's the seasickness?" Daniel asked. The riflemen were sitting below decks where the 32 pound guns were housed, eating their noon meal. Along the way, Daniel and Lane had acquired clothes instead of their rags. Sandra's laughed at them when she'd first seen them. They looked like real sailors.

"Gone. Although I'm not sure that I really want to eat this," Sandra replied. The food was unappetizing but she forced herself to take a mouthful anyway.

"I know what you mean."

"When are we going home?" Daniel was used to having control over his life. He really hated it here.

"I don't' know. I keep expecting to wake up in my own bed every morning. It always takes me a moment or two to figure out where I am," Sandra replied.

"You seem to have adapted," Lane stated.

"I've been here a while."

"How long?" Daniel asked.

"To be honest I've lost track. Come to think of it, I haven't checked Captain Sharpe's arm recently," Sandra stated.

"I did yesterday while you were sick," Lane assured her. "His arm appears to be healing well. You did good work."

"Thank you." Sandra relaxed and tried to force a few more mouthfuls of food down.

"Would you have killed him?" Daniel asked suddenly.

"In a heartbeat." Sandra stopped, aghast at the realization she'd meant it and could have done it. "Apparently I've changed some since I came here."

OOOOO

Four days passed quietly. The riflemen were finding their way around and getting used to the rhythm of things. They had caught up on their sleep while still assisting the _Indefatigable_ crew whenever possible. Captain Pellew had tried to get Sharpe to relinquish their weapons. Only the marines were supposed to have them while on board unless they were boarded. He discovered that the soldiers were firmly attached to their arms.

Whether Mr. Kennedy was aware of it or not, at all times a rifleman was watching him, making sure Mr. Simpson wasn't bothering him. The days of relative rest had done him good as well. The welts were just past being sore so he was better able to move around.

"Good morning, Mr. Kennedy," Sandra said. She'd been awake for half an hour and had just decided to get some food. She'd nearly run the young man down as he came out of the midshipman's quarters.

"Ah, good morning." He wasn't sure how to act around the woman. She'd seen him at his most vulnerable.

"It's all right, Mr. Kennedy. I don't bite," she assured him, smiling. "And it's still not your fault."

"Mr. Simpson hasn't attempted anything further," Archie said just to say something.

"Hopefully he's learned his lesson. If not, we're watching." Sandra wanted to make sure he knew she was keeping her promise.

"You are unlike any woman I've ever known," Archie stated.

"I've been getting that a lot," Sandra replied ruefully.

"Does Captain Pellew know about you yet?" Kennedy asked. Harris had to shuffle to get by them. There wasn't much room.

"No. Captain Sharpe is concerned that he will decide to burn me as a witch," Sandra stated.

For the first time since Sandra had met him, the young man smiled. "The captain hasn't burned anyone in at least a month."

"That's good to know," Sandra grinned.

"I have a favour to ask." The boy was beginning to relax with her. Sandra thought she'd push her luck.

"Certainly. How may I help you?" He was flattered that she'd chosen him to ask.

"Could you reach me about this ship? How it functions?"

"Certainly," Archie replied, smiling at her.

OOOOO

Standing on the top deck with the captain and Lt. Eckersley, Simpson saw the freak and Kennedy come above. It appeared that the snivelling wimp was explaining the rigging and the sails to her. As if she'd be able to fathom the complexities of sailing a ship. Soon they were joined by a second man with curly red hair.

"How are our guests doing, Mr. Eckersley?" Pellew asked. Casually, he watched the trio traverse the deck, Archie showing them around.

"I haven't had any time to spend with them as yet, sir," Mr. Eckersley admitted. Frankly, he'd gone out of his way to avoid contact with the riflemen. They were uncouth, including their captain.

"We shall have to remedy that. Ask the officers and Captain Sharpe's people to join us for supper this evening," Pellew instructed.

"All of the officers, sir?" the ship didn't have any rooms big enough to house that many people, much less allow them to have a sit down meal.

"Well, certainly Mr. Kennedy since he appears to have made friends with the young lady and Mr. Harris." The captain stopped upon seeing the shocked expressions on Mr. Eckersley's and Chad's faces.

"Come now. You didn't actually think that that was a boy, did you?" Pellew had seen through the captain's attempt to hide the woman's sex when he'd first laid eyes on her.

"Yes, sir," Lt. Eckersley replied, having found his voice. With new eyes, he watched the trio wander the deck. The two green jacketed figures carrying their rifles slung over their shoulders. It was inconceivable to him that the smaller of the two could be female.

"Which other officers would you like for supper, sir?" Lt. Chad asked, trying to change the subject. He too was having trouble with the idea that the young boy was in fact a woman but he was better able to hide it.

"Mr. Hornblower, yourself and Mr. Eckersley. That should be sufficient," Pellew said.

Silently, Simpson seethed that he had not been a consideration, even though it was going to be a tight fit as it was.

"I'll tell the cook," Mr. Chad said before leaving the top deck.

"Do you suppose, sir that she understands what Mr. Kennedy is explaining?" Mr. Eckersley asked.

"She doesn't strike me as being dense so I imagine she does."

OOOOO

"I heard the captain say that these were unknown waters. How is that possible?" Sandra asked. Two of the crewmen, Styles and Matthews, had just finished showing them the various knots they used. They were impressed at how quickly the riflemen had picked up on the techniques. For his part, Harris was thoroughly enjoying himself. He had a healthy thirst for knowledge, any knowledge.

"We were following the French coast, looking for corsairs a week ago. The man at the wheel said that around midnight he was checking our course against the stars when they just shifted. We thought he'd had more than his share of spirits until the following nightfall when the strange location of the stars was confirmed," Archie said.

"Was there fog just before the stars changed?" Harris asked.

"No. Not according to the report. Why are you so concerned about fog?"

"While we were wandering around before, whenever fog appeared we lost people in it and teh terrain often changed," Sandra replied. "Sometimes great fur covered creatures would attack us as well."

"It sounds like a faerie tale to me, lad," Matthews stated, smiling.

"One of them nearly killed Sean here," Harris responded defensively.

"Be quiet, Harris," Sandra growled. The last thing she needed was to have to show off her battle scars.

The concern that flashed over Kennedy's face was a little too much. Sandra knew that anyone seeing it would be suspicious.

"I was cut up," Sandra admitted. "But it wasn't as bad as Harris makes it out to be."

"Have you been in many fights?" Styles asked.

Any reply was pre-empted by the approach of Mr. Hornblower.

"Mr. Kennedy, the captain has requested our presence and that of the riflemen for supper," he stated, a smile playing on his lips.

"Why?" was Archie's knee jerk response.

"The captain didn't give me a reason."

Sandra's stomach had dropped down somewhere around her knees. The thought of being in close quarters for an extended period of time with the captain, while trying to maintain the facade of being male, was not particularly appetizing. She shot a guarded glance at Harris. The red haired Irishman was watching her, his face carefully neutral.

"Captain Sharpe has asked that the two of you join him below," Horatio continued.

"Thank you, sir." Nodding good bye to Archie, Sandra and Harris quickly made their way below.

OOOOO

The riflemen arrived at the captain's quarters promptly at seven o'clock. It was the only room large enough for the affair. Scared spit less but determined to not show it, Sandra followed Harris's back into the room.

The day had been spent repairing their uniforms, washing their clothes and then themselves. Captain Sharpe had insisted that his men look as good as possible. This included Lane and Daniel, who'd been unofficially adopted just as Sandra had been. He was proud of them and wanted that pride to show. The one concession they'd made was that their rifles had been left under the careful watch of Mr. Clayton.

Since Sandra's run in with Simpson, the other midshipmen had been happier. There had also been a marked improvement in the men's attitudes towards themselves and their duties. Sharpe had been amazed at the difference it had brought about.

"Ah, Captain. Welcome. Please find a seat," Captain Pellew stated, looking genuinely happy to see them. The others were all ready there, the lieutenants to his right and the midshipmen to his left. They had also spent time preparing their uniforms and bodies for the evening, looking very dashing.

"Thank you, Captain," Sharpe replied, taking the seat at the end of the table. The riflemen nervously arranged themselves on a first come basis. Being at the end of the line, Sandra wound up sitting beside Archie, far too close to the captain in her mind.

Uncomfortably, Sandra settled down beside the young man and nodded a greeting. She didn't want to talk in front of the captain of the ship.

"I've been remiss in my duties as host. I realized today that I hadn't been formally introduced to your unit, sir, and I thought it about time," Pellew said. Wine was efficiently poured into glasses set before each person.

"You have been busy, sir. We have taken no offense to your preoccupation with the ship. That is as it should be," Sharpe replied.

"Still, I have also discovered that some of my officers were unaware of the presence of a woman in our midst. After six days they really should have noticed." The riflemen had gone still, looking first at the naval captain and then at Sharpe to see what his response would be. Despite her best efforts, Sandra's face turned a deep shade of red. Ducking her head and using the taller Kennedy as a shield from the captain's eyes, Sandra stared stoically at the plate before her.

There was a short pause before Sharpe said anything during which he studied the older man at the end of the table opposite him. "I'm sorry that I felt the need to keep that information from you, sir. We have found in the past it was beneficial to do so."

"This is my ship, Captain Sharpe. Nothing goes on aboard without my knowledge." Anger flashed through Sandra. Lifting her head, she stared at the captain as she fought a battle within her mind. One part of her wanted to throw the incident with Mr. Simpson into the man's face. The other, refused to humiliate Mr. Kennedy any further by revealing to his captain what he and the others had been living through. The latter won after one look at the boy's face.

Kennedy had gone a deathly shade of white as he studied the plate before him intently. His hands were gripping his legs tightly under the concealment of the white linen table cloth. As unobtrusively as she could, Sandra slipped her right hand over his left and squeezed it gently. Convulsively, Archie caught hold of it with both hands and held it tightly on his left leg, all without looking up.

"I have not met any woman who chose to wear pants unless under the most dire of circumstances. I've assumed that that was what was going on here," Pellew continued.

"I don't wear dresses," Sandra spat out, turning to face the man. Under the table, Harper nudged her in an attempt to quiet her down. "Not for you or any other man on the planet."

"Oh, I see." The vehemence in the woman's eyes had taken Pellew aback. "Be that as it may, I would suggest that we try to find a more suitable place for you to sleep."

"I'm fine where I am," Sandra growled. Then she added belatedly, "Sir."

"Below deck with nearly a hundred men? I think not." Pellew was unaccustomed to arguing with females and kept expecting her to back down.

"You're not my captain, you can't make that decision for me. For that matter, neither can Captain Sharpe since I never legally joined the 95th rifles. I've all ready decided to stay where I am. Where I belong," Sandra grated.

"Sandra," Sharpe hissed. The expressions of shock around the other end of the table unsettled him.

"You're somewhat head strong, aren't you?" She definitely had a fire that he liked even if it did disrupt discipline.

"As a mule," was Sandra's terse response. Giving in to the pleading glance from Sharpe, Sandra sat back and glared at her plate. They'd have to shoot her first before she'd let them take her away from her unit, legal or not. She knew in her soul that she belonged to the 95th even without any documentation. It was only when someone started trying to make personal decisions for her that she used that loophole as leverage, even if she didn't believe it.

"Captain," Sharpe intervened. "Sandra has saved my life and my arm. She has also worked as hard as any of us to keep us alive. She is one of my chosen men in every sense. Any attempt to remove her from our company will be met with utmost resistance." That thought of killing fellow Englishmen over the woman was not an appealing one but he didn't want anyone entertaining ideas of separating them. Around him, the other riflemen nodded their assent.

Still gripping Mr. Kennedy's hand tightly, Sandra seemed to collapse into herself. She was stubborn as hell when she needed to be but she didn't want to be responsible for any fighting or bloodshed.

"You and your people are very close, sir," Pellew responded, choosing his words carefully. "I would not, even for propriety's sake, attempt to destroy that unity. If Miss Sandra is comfortable where she is and prefers it, I will cede to her wishes."

"Thank you, sir," Sandra said quietly.

The food was served, pre-empting any further discussion. After the servers had left, Captain Pellew indicated to the gathered people that they should begin.

"I suppose that I should begin the introductions," Captain Pellew stated. "To my right, I would like to present Lt. Eckersley, the first lieutenant on watch, and Lt. Chad, my second lieutenant.

"To my left are Midshipman Hornblower and Kennedy."

As quickly as he could, Sharpe named off his people. He was uncomfortable with the pomp and ceremony but he was relieved as the tension slowly abated in the room.

"How is it that you came together? Mr. Dixon and Mr. Jackson aren't members of your chosen men?" Pellew asked.

"We rescued them from the caves I told you about before. Lane was a doctor before he came here. I'm not sure what Daniel did." Sharpe was surprised when he realized that he really hadn't bother or had the time to get to know the man better.

"I was a linguist and archaeologist," Daniel answered for the man. The archaeologist in him was thrilled by the opportunity to get to know late eighteenth century people so closely but he also wished desperately for a way home.

"So you are a scholar," Pellew stated. He didn't often have intellectuals on board his ship. Not that he knew anyways, he looked forward to many conversations with the man.

"So is Sandra," Daniel blurted. The woman reacted marginally, then turned her gaze to him, surprise registering in her brown eyes.

"Really?" Kennedy turned to her.

"I was in university before I came here," Sandra admitted. To her knowledge she hadn't told anyone. How Daniel had figured it out was beyond her.

"What were you taking?" Daniel asked.

"Environmental and Conservation Sciences. My major was conservation biology."

"You're a scientist?" Sharpe was having trouble believing what he was hearing. The woman was smart, of that he was sure, but beyond being quick to catch onto things, he'd never considered her being able to read and write or to go to university.

"Yeah, I guess." Sandra wanted to climb into a hole. Everyone at the table was staring at her with various expressions ranging from shock to amusement to calculation. If she wasn't so embarrassed to be the center of attention, she would have laughed at Harris, Harper and Sharpe's faces. They were even more shocked than the seamen.

"Where are you from, Miss Sandra?" Lt. Chad asked. He'd never heard of women being allowed into higher education.

"Canada." Sandra was hedging again.

"Why are you so surprised by her admission, Captain Sharpe?" Captain Pellew had seen the woman's discomfort and was attempting to change the subject. "You were willing to fight for her. Surely you knew that she was educated."

"In all honesty the subject has never come up. I have seen her stand in line, firing with as much efficiency and accuracy as any of my men. The day I met her, she killed three French soldiers to protect me after I fell. What she did before that had never seemed all that important."

"Unless I get back to where I was before, it really isn't that important." Sandra was getting tired of the shocked expressions. Under the table, Kennedy briefly squeezed her hand. Looking up at him, she found him to be smiling proudly at her. Suddenly very tired, she turned her attention back to the plate.

"It would appear that you have proven yourself under the fire of battle. I don't hold with women carrying weapons or killing but I will not keep you from doing either," Pellew told her. His estimation of the woman had risen a few notches.

"With any luck, sir, I won't have to do either ever gain." The conversation quickly turned to their adventures thus far. Sandra remained silent, concentrating on eating with her one hand. Likewise, Kennedy was also content to listen in.

OOOOO

"Have you really done all those things?" Archie, Sandra, Lane and Daniel had retired from the supper at the first opportunity and were standing on deck, watching the landscape slip by in the shadows of darkness.

"Yes, I suppose I have. I don't think about it much," Sandra replied. The relative peace and quiet of the deck at night was helping to relax some of the tension out of her shoulders. "How about you? You've been on the sea a long time. You've had some adventures of your own, surely?"

"Not really. I boarded a ship once but there hasn't been any action since." Kennedy almost sounded disappointed.

"Be thankful," Daniel stated. He'd seen all the action he wanted to.

"I don't think I want to take part in any of the fights you and the riflemen have been in," Lane stated. He leaned against the rail.

"You don't have time to think, especially with the Baker rifles. You concentrate on loading, firing and loading again. Nothing else really matters," Sandra stated. "Could we please talk about something else? I'm getting really tired of hearing how wonderful I am or how deadly."

The conversation turned to things they'd seen or wanted to see and then to some of the ancient civilizations Daniel had studied. Then it was time to retire.

The thought of going below to the stench and noise was not a please one after the sea air but they steeled themselves and climbed down the steps.


	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

A week passed quietly. The ship skimmed through the waters, skirting the coastline that always looked the same. They had had to go ashore once to replenish supplies but it had been an uneventful trip.

The riflemen had become familiar enough with the ship that they had been given duties to accomplish each day to lessen the burden on the other men. Never one for heights, Sandra found she loved to climb up into the sails and help release them or secure them. It was hard work but she was in better shape than she'd been in years and enjoyed the challenge.

At the moment, however, Sandra was on the lower deck where the thirty two pound canons were, making sure everything was secure. Humming softly to herself, she paced the boards, yanking on ropes as she passed. At the far end, she turned to retrace her steps when something struck her across the shoulders, hard.

Staggering under the blow, Sandra fell to her knees when she was struck again. The force of the blow sent her down to the ground, her back a cacophony of pain.

"How does it feel?" Simpson growled from behind her. Hands caught hold of Sandra and flipped her onto her back. Grinning evilly, Simpson slowly undid the buttons on the front of his trousers. "I'd rather have a woman anyway."

The blows had temporarily stunned her. In horror, Sandra could do little but watch and silently curse herself for being careless. Then, just as the last button was slipped through the hole, Sandra's body came back to her. Ignoring the pain and tingling in her limbs, she brought her foot up and into the man's crotch as hard as she could.

Simpson must have seen it coming because he side stepped her foot enough to get only a glancing blow. "You like it rough?" Simpson growled, bringing the board up that he'd used to stun her.

"You'll have to kill me first," Sandra spat, springing to her feet. She brought her left arm up to push the board away as Simpson swung it at her head. He hadn't been able to get as much momentum as he'd hoped so the blow did little more than bruise her arm. With her other hand, Sandra caught hold of the weapon and pulled it away from him before he could recover.

Defenceless, Simpson changed his mind and tried to backpedal. Angered beyond words, Sandra advanced on him. Closing the gap between them, she drove her knee into his crotch. When Simpson doubled over, his breath whooshing from his lungs, she brought her hands down on the back of his neck. Crashing to the deck, Simpson was unprepared for the kick to his side and the fist to his face.

"So you like to abuse young men do you?" Sandra hissed. Again she kicked Simpson. Then she backed off, waiting for him to gain his feet.

"Come on, get up!" Sandra shouted. She wanted to finish this once and for all. There was no one here to stop them.

Slowly, Simpson gained his feet. Trying to take the woman by surprise, he aimed his right fish at her face before he was completely vertical. He connected solidly with the left side of her face.

Spitting blood, completely oblivious to the pain and damage, Sandra advanced on Simpson again. Her right fish shot out in a quick jab. Then she followed through with her left and an upper cut. Stunned, Simpson fell back a few steps. Then she was on him.

A lucky punch landed on Sandra's left cheek but Simpson suffered the brunt of the assault without getting more than a few shots off. Finally he had nowhere else to go and stumbled into one of the cannons. Crumpling to the ground, he tried to protect his face with his arms and started shouting, hoping someone would hear and stop the woman.

Sweating and bleeding, Sandra hit the man three more times. Then she back pedaled her fists at the ready.

"Get up!" Sandra barked. When there was no response, she kicked at his side. The sound he was making, a kind of high pitch keening faltered for a moment. A heartbeat later it continued.

"Come on, you coward! Do you really want it getting around the ship that you've been beaten by a woman?" Sandra had lost all connection to reality. All she knew was that she wanted him to pay for what he'd done.

There was a pause as Simpson considered her words. Silence fell as he gained his feet again and squared off at the woman. "I'm going to kill you," Simpson growled, taking a step forward.

"No, Mr. Simpson. You will not," Captain Pellew barked. He and several of the officers, including Archie and Horatio, had heard the noise and come to investigate. Neither person had heard their approach.

"Stay out of this," Simpson hissed. As a last ditch attempt, he threw himself at the woman. Moments later, he found himself sprawled on the deck, the woman standing over him. Simpson saw his death in her eyes.

"Sandra," Kennedy called, stepping toward her. He had no idea how she'd managed to throw Simpson to the ground, even after witnessing it, and he had no idea what she planned to do next. He did know he didn't want her to kill Simpson. Despite her bravado, he could see how the men she'd killed ate at her soul and didn't want Simpson's name added to the list of regrets. "He's beaten."

The woman's shoulders visibly slumped and the fists were slowly released. Almost staggering, Sandra turned to face the young midshipman. Blood streamed from her left nostril and her upper left lip where it had split.

"What happened here?" Captain Pellew demanded. The woman's face when she'd been standing over the sea man had been a mask of pure hatred. It chilled him to think on it.

"He attacked me," Sandra mumbled. Pellew had to strain to hear her, "with that." Lifting a finger, she pointed at the discarded board.

"That's a lie," Simpson tried to defend himself.

"No, sir. It's not," Kennedy interjected before the captain could respond. "Mr. Simpson has attacked me in a similar fashion before."

The captain took in Simpson's undone trousers and the state of his face. Cold anger settled into his stomach. "Get him out of here," Pellew growled. "Take him to the brig."

Horatio and Clayton pulled the man to his feet and escorted him out, ignoring his pleas of innocence.

"Miss Sandra. Are you all right?" Captain Pellew asked. Experimentally, he took a step toward her.

"My face hurts," Sandra responded. The rage that had flowed through her was gone, leaving her tired and shaky. Distractedly, she looked at her hands. The knuckles were split on both of them. Blood flowed freely. "Don't let that man near me again. I'll kill him."

"Mr. Simpson will remain in the brig until a court marshal can be convened,' Captain Pellew assured her. "Mr. Kennedy, would you take her to see Dr. Dixon please?"

"Certainly, sir." Cautiously, Archie slipped an arm around Sandra and led her out past Eckersley, Chad and the others. Just beyond them stood the other seamen, Mathews, Styles and Oldroy watched with concern as the duo slipped by them.

"Go tell Captain Sharpe that we're coming," Kennedy ordered. Beneath his fingers he could feel Sandra trembling and wasn't sure that she was going to make it to her bunk.

"That's twice I had the chance to kill him and I didn't," Sandra muttered. Her head had begun to pound as had the welts across her back where the beam had struck her. Her arm was lost in the cacophony of it all.

"Mr. Simpson will get what he deserves now that the captain has proof. That'll be worse for him than being killed," Kennedy responded.

"That took a lot of guts, you know, admitting to the captain what he's been doing to you," Sandra stated.

"I had to. It's about time that someone did," Kennedy replied. Sandra's steps were getting smaller and her trembling was getting worse. "Are you going to make it?"

"I don't know," was her reply. Heavy steps were coming toward them, fast. Just as Patrick and Sharpe reached them, Sandra's legs buckled and the Irishman scrambled to catch her.

"What happened?" Sharpe demanded as Harper picked the woman up and headed for their berth.

"Simpson tried to attack her. She fought him off and then gave him a beating," Archie said, following right behind the sergeant.

OOOOO

Lane was unprepared for what he found as he carefully removed the woman's shirt. Sandra was currently unconscious, lying on her stomach in her cot. The other wounds had been easy enough to clean and stitch when necessary, but the welts across her back and left arm were massive and swelling fast. One of them ran across her shoulder blades, while painful, it didn't appear to have resulted in any broken or cracked bones. The other one ran across her upper back, just around the neck. It concerned him the most.

Someone had sent for the ship's doctor. Now Lane had to deal with the wounds and a shadow. It was disconcerting. Soaking lengths of cloth in the salt water Styles had brought him, Lane laid them across the welts in an attempt to reduce the swelling.

"Well?" Sharpe demanded. He'd stayed out of the way as best he could but the young man had been too quiet. His riflemen had been joined by Horatio, Kennedy, Clayton, Styles, Mathews and some of the others, leaving the room feeling close and stifling.

"Simpson definitely got the worst of it," Lane replied. "But I'm still worried. He hit her with that plank harder than I'd like."

"What does that mean?" Sharpe was losing patience.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but we won't know for sure until she's awake. She could be fine or she may be paralyzed," Lane stated. The ship's doctor had said very little, he'd hovered and that was about it.

"How long until we know?" Archie asked.

"Know what?" Sandra croaked.

"Can you move your arms and legs?" Lane asked, moving closer.

"No," Sandra replied.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm practically naked here. I'm not moving anything until the crowd goes away." It had startled Sandra when she'd come around to find how much of her clothes had been removed.

A quiet laugh rippled through the room as men slowly drifted away.

"Where's my shirt and jacket?" Sandra asked, still not daring to move.

"I'll put them back on you once I get the swelling down on your back," Lane stated. "Are you sure you can move everything?"

"Positive." It was awkward looking around even with being on Sharpe's bunk. "Who are you?" Out of the corner of her eye, Sandra had caught sight of the ship's doctor.

"Dr. Greyshirtles," the doctor replied.

"Could I please get dressed?" It was driving her to distraction being this vulnerable. "The welts are fine."

"No, they're not," Lane responded. "But I'll let you put your shirt back on, on one condition; you stay in that hammock until I tell you otherwise."

"Fine." With Lane's help, Sandra attained a close proximity to a sitting position just long enough to get her shirt on. Then the young doctor forced her to lie down again. She'd deliberately ignored the ship's doctor in hopes that he would take the hint and leave. He didn't.

"How do you feel?" Lane asked once Sandra was settled again.

"A little rough around the edges but it could have been worse. He could have been a better fighter."

"You've got to learn to start backing down, Sandra. One of these days you're going to get yourself killed," Lane stated.

"In my previous life the thought of hitting anyone was beyond me, even scum like Simpson. I guess I get to live out my fantasies here." Sandra rolled awkwardly onto her side. "Does he really have to be here?"

"I've been asking myself that for a while."

OOOOO

After a fitful night of sleep, Sandra crawled out of the hammock, quietly padded over to the stairs and climbed them. It was just barely sunrise when she got on deck. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around her torso and moved over to the rail.

The coastline was still pretty much the same as before but she watched it slip by anyway.

"It gets a bit monotonous, doesn't it?" Captain Pellew asked, coming up behind her.

"It's almost like an illusion. They could have us sailing around in circles for all we really know," Sandra replied. Try as she might she could not find a flaw in the scene playing out before her.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, captain, a bit battered and bruised but that's about it," Sandra responded.

"Mr. Simpson's eyes have swollen shut," the captain stated. He'd joined her at the rail, a smile playing on his lips. "I've never seen a woman fight as you did. It was most enlightening."

"Glad I could help," Sandra replied, her words tinged with sarcasm."When are you holding the court marshal?"

"I would prefer to wait until it could be done properly. For the sake of speed, however, we are convening it at 7pm tonight," Pellew stated. "Mr. Kennedy and you will be called to testify. Are there any others that I should know about?"

"Talk to your men, captain. You may think you know everything that goes on but you hardly ever go below decks except to your own chambers. I hadn't seen Mr. Eckersley or Mr. Chad below decks until yesterday. A lot of things can happen in the dark," Sandra said.

"Yes, I suppose they can," Pellew said as he stared out at the landscape.

Their conversation was pre-empted by the arrival of Mr. Hornblower and Mr. Kennedy from down below.

"Mr. Hornblower, I have some questions to ask. Please follow me to my cabin," Pellew ordered, headed for his quarters.

"What do you suppose that's all about?" Archie asked.

"The truth."

OOOOO

The court marshal was short but sweet. In a matter of two hours Simpson was tried and found guilty of conduct unbecoming of an officer. Most of the testimony was given in private, away from the sailors' ears to reduce the officers' discomfort. The decision made, Midshipman Jack Simpson was brought before his fellow seamen to hear his sentence.

"You have been found guilty of conduct unbecoming of an officer. Due to the severity and cruelty of your crimes, under normal circumstances I would have you hung from the yardarm.

"Fortunately for you, Mr. Simpson, cooler heads have prevailed. Your sentence is to be put off this ship with no supplies and no weapons. You will have to survive by your own wits. You name is to be black listed from the Royal Navy's chronicles as soon as we return home," Pellew decreed. Shouts of agreement swept through the assembled men. Sandra and the riflemen were at the back, watching dispassionately.

"Mr. Eckersley, please relieve Mr. Simpson of his weapons and his midshipman's jacket. Mr. Clayton, please get a boat ready," the captain ordered.

Before him, Simpson stared at the planking as his clothes were rummaged through and his navy blue jacket removed. Just as he was led off to the boar that would take him assure, Jack raised his head to stare daggers at first at the captain and then the men that had testified against him.

"You will live to regret this," Simpson hissed. Then he was being heaved over the side.

OOOOO

"They should have killed him," Sandra said as she watched the boat paddle toward shore.

"They've made a very powerful enemy today, that's for sure," Daniel Jackson agreed.

"I have the feeling that he was right. We're going to live to regret this," Harris stated.

OOOOO

The boat stayed on shore long enough to deposit a cursing and struggling Simpson in the sand. A quick heave and it was headed back to the ship. The two marines kept their rifles aimed at the solitary figure.

OOOOO

"Well, Mr. Kennedy, how does it feel to be rid of him?" Sandra asked. It had been three days since they'd dropped off Simpson. The time had gone by quickly as that night the weather had changed. A storm had come up out of the blue and had been blowing ever since.

The crew was exhausted from the constant fight to not smash into the coast or to allow any of their masts to rip. Little more than a skeleton crew was currently on deck. The rest were below trying to get what sleep they could.

The young midshipman was restless and had come to where the riflemen were resting. Sandra was fighting another bout of seasickness with the storm tossed sea and was herself a little restless. Her back made sleeping difficult in the hammock so she'd been standing at the end of the bunks, trying to not disturb the others.

"Like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders," Kennedy replied, smiling brightly at her.

"That's good," Sandra said, trying unsuccessfully to return his smile.

"Are you seasick again?" Archie couldn't help but smile. Sandra was a strong woman but she couldn't beat the sea.

"Trying not to be. How is it up there?" Her injuries and Sharpe's over protectiveness had kept her below decks most of the time.

"Wild at times. It's the worst storm I've been in."

"Do we dare go look?" Sandra asked. Fresh air sounded like a good idea at the moment.

"No, we do not dare," Sharpe growled, springing out of his hammock. With the luck Sandra had been having lately, she would be swept over the side.

"Could I at least walk around where the thirty-two pounders are? I'm restless and need to stretch my legs even it just pacing back and forth."

"All right," Sharpe ceded. "But I'm going with you."

"As will I," Archie volunteered.

"I don't need an escort," Sandra growled. Seeing the hurt expression on Kennedy's face, she backed down. "But I could use some company."

OOOOO

They had been on the lower deck for half an hour when the ship rocked violently to the starboard side. The jolt was so sudden and unexpected that the three of them tumbled into the wall on that side. Sharpe recovered quickly and scrambled to his feet, followed shortly by Kennedy. Sandra was slower to stand. Archie had to give her a hand up.

"What's going on?" Sandra asked, gasping against the spasms that had seized her back.

"I think we're under attack. Come on!" Archie replied excitedly. Turning, he ran for the stairs.

"We'd better follow him," Sharpe stated. He paused long enough to extract their rifles from the floor where they'd fallen. They he caught hold of Sandra's arm and made a break for it.

Scrambling to get above before the ship was taken Archie didn't watch his footing on the steps and slipped in a puddle of water. Unable to catch himself, the young midshipman stumbled, hitting his knee painfully on the wood.

Before Kennedy had a chance to recover, Sharpe was on him. With his free hand, he grabbed the seaman to keep him from continuing. "Wait," Sharpe growled. The pain in her back and arm forgotten, Sandra slipped by the two men, her rifle primed and loaded.

It was dark above deck and confusing. The sea was storm tossed, throwing the ship around. What Sandra had thought she knew about the ship really didn't matter as guy-lines and sails were loose and flapping in the wind. Her initial inspection of the immediate area showed it to be deserted.

Cautiously, Sandra took another step up and looked at the top deck. Her heart stopped. Even in the uncertain light, she could recognize the creatures. How they got her was anyone's guess and at this point she didn't care. The other end of the ship was abandoned. Beyond the creatures, she could just make out Captain Pellew, Horatio, Chad and Eckersley as well as some others she didn't immediately recognize. Despite their best efforts, the men were clearly terrified.

"Damn," Sandra swore. Watching the creatures, she backed down the stairs, signally the others to do the same.

"They're back," Sandra said once they were far enough away. "There're three creatures holding the bridge crew hostage."

"What about the rest of the crew?" Sharpe wondered.

"We have to help Captain Pellew!" Kennedy demanded.

"We will," Sandra assured the young man, maintaining a restraining hand on his arm.

"First, we have to get help," Sharpe stated. The deck that held the 32 pounders was separate from the others but was accessible to the crews quarters by a narrow passage, which was how they'd gotten there. "Sandra, lead the way."

Warily, Sandra headed to the passage, rifle at the ready. It was too narrow for one of the creature. The three humans virtually had to walk sideways to get down through. There was also no light source so going was slower than she'd like.

Reaching the end, Sandra paused to listen before forcing the door open. She could hear the men walking loudly, possibly in fear, as well as at least one of the aliens.

"Damn," Sandra swore again. "Archie, do you have a weapon?"

Nodding, the young man pulled out his officer's sword. He'd forgotten to take it off after his watch.

"There's one of them in there, maybe more. Even with our rifles it will take several direct hits to kill one of the creatures. If there's more than one, we're in trouble," Sandra stated. This was probably a lost cause but better to go out fighting.

"Follow her lead. I can't reload my rifle fast enough," Sharpe ordered.

Not waiting for a response, Sandra pushed the hatch open and stepped through. Unlike the upper decks, this one was well lit, leaving her blinking for a split second.

"To your right!" Harris yelled at her. Pointing her rifle, Sandra's eyes cleared just as she pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the creature between the eyes as it turned on her. Expertly, she reloaded as Sharpe's rifle barked beside her.

The creature paused for a moment, blinking as if it were confused. It was time enough for Sandra to tap load her rifle and for Harris, Hagman and Harper to join them. The Chestershire man accepted the rifle from a struggling Sharpe and finished reloading. A second round of bullets and it was on them.

That left it up to Archie and Sharpe, who'd drawn his Calvary sword and held it in his good hand. The swords flashing, Sandra and Hagman fell back, reloading as fast as they could.

"Are there any more?" Sandra inquired, searching with her eyes.

"No, just the one, lass," Harper replied above the grunts and heavy breathing as the battle continued. Some of the sailors were arming themselves with anything they could and joining the melee.

Just as Hagman was drawing breath to shout at the others to move so he and the woman could take another shot at it, the creature collapsed. To be sure it was dead, Sharpe plunged his sword into it hilt deep, twice.

"There are three more on the top deck holding the officers hostage," Archie panted. His sword stuck to his hand with drying blood, he rested it against a support. His fellow sailors were gathered around him, waiting for instructions.

"Is Mr. Hornblower with them?" Mathews inquired.

"Yes."

"Where are the rest of the rifles?" Sharpe asked Harris.

"Above sir, the creatures took them," Harris replied.

"We'll have to do the best we can. Use anything that you can lay your hands on. This isn't going to be easy," Sharpe ordered.

"Sandra and Hagman will get up into the sails and try to lure the creatures away from the others as well as maintain a field of fire while we're in close quarters with them," Sharpe continued. A few surprised looks met his glance but not among the riflemen.

Cautiously, Hagman and Sandra followed Styles and Mathews who led the way up the stairs to the top deck. Loading the rifles in the rigging was going to be difficult if not impossible but it was worth a try. At the top of the stairs, the two of them moved away and headed for the port side and scaled the ropes. The creatures were turned toward their captives, completely oblivious to the fate of their fellow.

In position, Sandra took careful aim. From the corner of her eye, she waited for a sign from Hagman. The rifleman took the first shot, a moment later, Sandra hit the second creature.

As one, the creatures turned to see what had caused them the pain. Curious, the third creature followed suit. Loading as fast as she could and not fall off the side, Sandra felt the beady little eyes sear into her. Beyond them, she could just make out a crumpled figure. Then the seamen and riflemen emerged and swarmed toward the hulking, furry shapes.

The rifle loaded, Sandra took careful aim at the one she'd shot earlier and pulled the trigger. Whether she actually hit it was debateable but she began to reload anyway. Beside her, Hagman fired and reloaded. Time seemed to stand still. Her entire world consisted of firing and loading the Baker rifle and not falling.

Men were being tossed aside like so much rubbish. If they were able, they threw themselves back into the fight. The officers joined in, Captain Pellew using a prod he'd acquired from the nearest one like a sword.

The creature in the middle fell. The one on the right was the next one. Then, finally, the third one collapsed.

Exhausted and gore spattered, the men began the arduous process of dragging the bodies over to the rail and lifting them over the side. Scrambling down the rigging, Sandra handed Hagman her rifle and began working on the nearest wounded sailor.

The man didn't have any obvious injuries except a cut to his forehead. Squeezing his shoulder reassuringly, Sandra paused to scan her immediate surroundings.

"Miss Sandra," Mathews called to her, waving frantically from the top deck. The ship's doctor and Lane were also examining people and were currently busy with two of the most serious cases. Before she want to see what Mathews wanted, Sandra counted heads and was relieved to find all of the riflemen, Daniel and Lane up and about, apparently uninjured.

"What is it, Mathews?" Sandra asked as she climbed the ladder to reach them.

"It's Mr. Hornblower, miss. One of them monsters took a swipe at him," Mathews explained.

Covering the distance to the young man's side in two strides, Sandra knelt down beside him. Horatio was unconscious, his face pale and drawn. Large gashes ran across his chest and his left side. Examining the gashes quickly, she turned to Mathews, ignoring Styles, Oldroy and Archie for the time being. "I need clean bandages, water, thread and a curved sewing needle if you have one. If not, a straight needle will do. I also need alcohol and soap."

Oldroy and Mathews headed out.

"Styles take your shirt off and press it here," Sandra ordered, indicating the deepest wound. Satisfied, she checked the boy's life signs and didn't like what she found.

"Archie, go get Lane, drag him here if you have to." Desperately, Sandra straightened Horatio's body out so he was lying on his back. Tilting his head back, she pinched his nose closed, took a deep breath and blew into the boy's open mouth as hard as she could. She paused, watching Horatio's chest. Seeing it rise, she did it again. Scurrying up to Horatio's chest, she pushed Style's hands out of the way, found the spot she needed and pushed down ten times.

"He's not breathing and there's no pulse," Sandra gasped as Lane joined her.

"Do the breaths, I'll do the depressions," the young doctor instructed as he took her place. He paused long enough to check for respirations and a pulse. Finding none, Lane nodded at Sandra, who had repositioned herself at the boy's head. "How long as he been like this?"

"About two minutes. He was breathing when I reached him," Sandra said. Taking a deep breath, she blew twice into Horatio's mouth. A crowd was gathering as news of the midshipman's plight spread. Captain Pellew and Captain Sharpe came to witness the scene as Sandra and lane struggled to bring the boy back. Hope faded as the seconds passed.

_A/N: Well, we're getting to the end of what I wrote back in 1999. Yeah, this story is that old. Believe it or not, I'm still not sure where this is going or how it's going to end. Thanks for coming on the ride with me though I'm sure it'll be an interesting one as we find out!_

_Susanne_


	23. Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Despair threatened to overwhelm Sandra as she watched Lane do the compressions. She bent down to breath into Horatio and felt something against her cheek. Her gingers snaked up to his neck. Holding her breath, she waited.

"I've got a pulse!" Sandra felt like yelling from the highest sail. "And he's breathing."

Expertly, Lane checked Horatio's life signs and his injuries. Smiling, he wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve. Horatio coughed. Then sputtered. Then his eyes flickered open and came to rest on Archie's pale face. His friend was kneeling beside him, now that Sandra and Lane were working on his wounds.

"Horatio, how are you feeling?" Archie asked, gently touching the dark haired man's shoulder.

"Sore. What happened?" Horatio asked his voice hoarse. His chest felt bruised form Lane pushing on it and the gashes stung terribly.

"You were dead, lad," Harper supplied when it became apparent that Archie was too overcome with emotion to answer. The blond young man had to turn his head away for a moment to blink back tears. It had felt like someone had ripped his heart out of his chest when he thought his friend, his best friend, was gone.

"Dr. Dixon and Miss Sandra brought you back," the big Irishman continued.

"It's unnatural," the ship's doctor murmured, looking down at Horatio like he'd sprouted a second head.

" I wasn't ready to give up on him yet, doctor," Lane growled, using the supplies Mathews had brought during the excitement, to seal the wounds. "We still had time."

"Dead is dead. There is no more time after that," the doctor challenged. He didn't want to lose face in front of the men. He also thought that there had to be some witchery afoot.

"What we did is called CPR, cardio-pulmonary resuscitation. It's a common medical practice where we come from," Lane shot back. The limitations of the man's medical knowledge irritated him to no end. The worse of the gashes were sewn. He turned his attention to cleaning the others and maintaining a close watch on the boy's life signs. Sandra helped where she could but mostly, she just trembled inside.

"Are you a witch?" the doctor demanded.

"A what?" Lane couldn't believe his ears.

"The woman must be a witch to blow life back into Mr. Hornblower's body," the doctor insisted.

"She was keeping oxygen in his blood so brain tissue didn't die. I was depressing the heart against the spine so blood would continue to circulate and it would remember how to beat."

"There was no witchcraft involved?" Captain Pellew asked. He personally didn't believe in such rubbish but some of the men did.

"No, just medical knowledge," Lane replied. The wounds cleaned, he spent the next several minutes bandaging him up. "What I would give for some tape right about now."

"Miss Sandra, are you all right?" Archie asked, having noticed the pallor of the woman's skin and the slight tremble in her hands.

"I'm fine. It's a delayed reaction, that's all. I'd never seen a dead person that close up before," she admitted, smiling weakly.

"Are all of the women where you come from like you?" Captain Pellew asked. He'd thought that Sharpe and the others had been overstating her abilities to keep her with them. Then he'd seen the woman up in the rigging and reloading like an old soldier. He couldn't tell if all of the shots had been accurate but he did have proof that none of his people had been shot.

"When they have to be," Sandra replied. "I'll go check on the others."

The clean up was quick. Once the alien bodies were overboard and the wounded below, gangs of sailors set about scrubbing the blood out of the deck and setting the sails.

Magically, the seas had calmed down during the right, much to the captain's delight. He was pacing the top deck, shouting orders to lieutenants Eckersley and Chad. Glancing down to make sure everyone was doing their jobs, he spotted Sandra and Lane helping a seaman to his feet so they could move him below.

"How were the men set free, Mr. Eckersley?" Pellew asked suddenly.

"Captain Sharpe, Midshipman Kennedy and Miss Sandra were on the deck with the 32 pounders when the creatures attacked. Captain Sharpe and Miss Sandra had their rifles, Mr. Kennedy had his sword, sir," Chad replied for the move senior Eckersley who had not had the time since being liberated to find out. "The three of them released the men. You saw the rest, sir."

"It would appear we owe them our ship and possibly our lives."

"It would appear so, sir."

OOOO

The wounded patched up the best they could manage given the limited supplies, Sandra slipped away to the midshipmen's quarters to assure herself that Horatio was okay. At the threshold she paused. It had dawned on her that she wasn't sure which bunk was his. After a moment, she realized it didn't matter. From the doorway she could see Archie and Clayton hovering over one of the hammocks.

A deep breath and Sandra crossed over to where they were. When she reached them, Archie moved to the other side of the hammock so she could get there faster. Horatio's head was at the nearest end of the bed. Smiling, she placed her right hand tentatively on his forehead.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Hornblower?" Sandra asked, moving so she was in his line of sight. Horatio's forehead was cool to the touch. Grateful that he didn't have a fever, she pulled his blanket up over him to stave off shock.

"I feel fine, Miss Sandra," Horatio croaked, as he struggled weakly to sit up, his brown eyes little more than slits in his exhaustion.

"Please, stay in bed. You need to rest and to quit calling me Miss Sandra. Sandra will do nicely, thank you. That goes for all of you. You make me feel old otherwise," she instructed. Picking up a pitcher, she poured water into a cup beside it and helped Horatio take a couple of mouthfuls.

"Mr. Kennedy," Sandra began.

"Please, call me Archie," the young man interrupted.

"All right, Archie, I'm going to show you how to check his pulse and how often he breaths. If either one stops, I want you yelling for all you're worth, all right?" Hesitantly, the midshipman nodded his head, yes. "Do you have a watch?"

"I have one," Clayton replied, fishing it out of his jacket pocket.

"Thank you. If you don't mind, I'd like you to watch as well so you can spell Archie off." Sandra accepted the ornate pocket watch and handed it over to Archie. "You only have to do it every fifteen minutes. Try to disturb him as little as possible, he needs to sleep."

Carefully, Sandra ran through the procedures and watched them do it a couple of times until she was satisfied they knew how to do it.

"One more thing," Sandra said just before leaving. "Mr. Hornblower, don't lie to me. If something hurts, tell me. Otherwise I won't be able to help you."

"Yes, ma'am," was the quiet reply.

"One of us'll be back to check on him again in a couple of hours."

OOOOO

Night settled over the ship. The crew had gotten the sails repaired just as the last light faded. After a meal of bread, cheese and rum, those not on duty or on watch drifted below to their beds.

"Do you think the aliens finding us has anything to do with setting Simpson free?" Daniel asked as the others settled for the night. The only ones missing were Lane and Sandra who were looking in on Horatio one last time.

"Anything is possible," Sharpe replied. "If he saw an advantage for himself by turning us in he probably would."

"When are we going to go home, sir?" Harris asked suddenly.

"That is a question I wish I knew the answer to."

OOOOO

With the dawn came another peaceful day. The sea was calm, the sky clear, the winds light and no sign of the creatures. The night shift relieved, the day shift set about further shoring up the sails, rescrubbing the decks and otherwise repairing any effects of the night before.

"Ah, Captain Sharpe," Pellew stated upon seeing the tall blond man gain the upper deck. The rifleman had rare come into his domain unless he had something to discuss. This day, however, he appeared relaxed and to be enjoying the view, which was particularly breathtaking. "How are your people faring?"

"They are well, sir. Lane and Sandra are checking on Mr. Hornblower and relieving Mr. Kennedy so he can get some sleep," Sharpe reported. Despite the man's uptight, upright exterior he liked him and enjoyed his company, now that there were no secrets to hide.

"That is good. I will have to thank the two of them for what they did. Mr. Hornblower is one of my best officers, I would have missed him.

"Have they done this often, bringing dead people to life?"

"Until I saw it yesterday, I would have thought it impossible. They must be from fantastic times," Sharpe replied. In the night, after everyone else was asleep, he'd stared at Sandra and Lane, expecting to see something fantastic happen. He hadn't known what exactly he was waiting for and was somewhat disappointed when nothing untoward occurred.

"Yes, Captain Sharpe, they must."

"Until Mr. Hornblower is back on his feet, I have relieved Mr. Kennedy of duty so he can attend to him."

"Thank you. Mr. Hornblower appears to be quite fond of Mr. Kennedy and doesn't seem to mind him poking and prodding at him.

"He does, however, get a bit embarrassed when Sandra does it," Sharpe explained.

"Yes, I imagine he would," Captain Pellew stated, a small smile on his lips.

OOOOO

"Archie, go to bed." The boy was admirable in his concern for his friend but he was becoming a bit obsessive. "You won't do him any good if you get sick from not sleeping."

"We'll let you know if his condition changes, Mr. Kennedy," Lane assured the boy. Carefully, he guided the seaman into the nearest hammock and laid him in it. "Sleep," he ordered, placing a blanket over him.

"Now that you're awake, how do you feel?" Sandra asked as she turned her attention to her charge.

"I'm fine," Horatio responded, his cheeks turning a little red as he blushed. "My chest and wounds are sore but manageable."

"I'm glad to hear that. Unfortunately, though, we're going to have to change your bandages so that may not be the case for a little while." Sandra began to rummage among the things she and Lane had brought when she felt his long, thin hand come to rest on her arm.

"Thank you," he whispered when she looked up, his eyes beginning to mist a little.

"You're welcome, Mr. Hornblower. I'm glad we were here to help," Sandra answered, smiling at him.

"Now, can you sit up?" Lane came to join them just as she was pulling him upright in the hammock. With his assistance, they got the young man up and out of it and seated on a bench beside the table.

Quickly, but gently, they removed the old, soiled bandages, cleaned the wounds and put clean ones on. By the time they were done, the boy was spent. One on either side, they got him to his feet and halfway to his bunk when Captain Pellew entered the quarters.

Right away, the midshipman tried to stand up straight and salute his captain but he couldn't quite make it. Sandra and Lane simply looked at the captain.

"Please, please, continue," Pellew said, seeing the boy begin to sag.

When they had Horatio back in bed and comfortable, the captain stepped forward. "How are you feeling, Mr. Hornblower?" he asked.

"Better, sir," was the only response Horatio could give before unconsciousness slammed down on him.

Concern flashed over the captain's face before he could hide it. He looked to the two medics for reassurance.

"He should be fine, sir," Lane said. "The only complication I'm concerned about at this point is infection. So far that hasn't been a problem. He will be weak for a couple of days but once the gashes heal there should be no long term effects."

"Thank you. I don't pretend to comprehend what you did but I will be eternally grateful to you both," Pellew said.

"I'm just glad that we could be there, sir," Sandra replied. She paused, never quite comfortable around the man. "I was wondering, sir, how exactly did Mr. Hornblower become injured?"

It had occurred to her that the other officers were virtually uninjured and she wondered why.

"One of the creatures threatened me for not complying to its wishes. As it was about to strike me, Mr. Hornblower stepped in the way. His actions, while not well considered, prevented my injury," the captain explained, color rising in his cheeks.

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Captain Sharpe, Harper and Harris. Daniel came along a few moments behind them. Harris was carrying a tray with food on it and two mugs. Neither of the medics had bothered to eat. He was worried they'd become ill from malnutrition.

"We brought you some food," the red haired man stated, setting the tray down on the table.

"After you finish, some of the boys are going to go swimming. They're beginning to smell, so they are," Patrick added, nervous around the other captain. "They wanted to know if you were like to join them."

"Where are they swimming?" Sandra asked as she carefully washed the bandages and her hands.

"Over the side of the boy, lass."

Naked fear gnawed at Sandra's gut, bleeding all of the color out of her face. Carefully, she concentrated on what she was doing.

"Are you all right, miss?" Captain Pellew asked.

"I'm fine," she replied.

"You can't swim!" Daniel laughed. It warmed his heart to see a chink in the woman's armour.

"I can too," Sandra responded defensively, still not looking up.

"Now, you can't. You're terrified!"

"I can too. I can dog paddle. Slowly, a smile crept across her face. Then Sandra looked up at the men surrounding her, her cheeks red. "I'm afraid of drowning or getting chomped on by something bigger than myself."

"Finally, something you're afraid of," Daniel stated with satisfaction.

"I'm afraid most of the time, Daniel. I'm just good at concentrating on other things, distracting myself."

"Well, lass, are you ready to face this particular fear?" Harper asked. From the terror in Sandra's eyes he didn't expect her to take him up on his offer. And he didn't blame her.

Seconds passed as Sandra fought her inner demons. While she considered the idea, she took a few bites of the food they'd brought.

"I'll go with you," Lane offered. He wasn't particularly fond of deep water either but he was willing to do anything to get clean at this point. Thus far the only bathing facilities had been a bucket and a sponge.

"Thanks," Sandra replied, still thinking. "Okay, I'll do it. I hate being afraid."

OOOOO

An hour later, her meal eaten, Horatio checked on and a loose shirt and short pants located that fir her, Sandra was standing at the railing of the ship, looking down at the flailing men below her, while she tucked the shirt in. Standing to her right was Lane and to her left was Harper.

"You don't have to do this, less. You have nothing to prove to us, no you don't," Harper stated upon seeing her hands trembling while she fussed with the rope that held her pants up.

"I know, Harper. But I do have something to prove to myself." Angrily, Sandra pulled herself up over the railing and climbed down the hand rails along the side of the ship. At the bottom, above the waves she froze.

Mathews and Styles had been watching Sandra as she descended. Seeing her difficulty, they swam over to the hull, a foot below her.

"Are you all right, miss?" Mathews asked, hesitantly placing a hand beside her left foot.

"No," was the strained reply. Sandra was facing the hull with a death grip on the hand rail. A few steps up, Harper waited patiently for her to decide which direction she was going in. Visions of shark fins and octopus tentacles played through her mind, over and over.

"Can we help?" Styles asked, unsure what to do.

"Just stay where you are," Sandra suggested. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, let it out and stepped downward.

The water was surprisingly warm as Sandra's far foot plunged into it. Fear turned her stomach to ice and her bowels to water. It was worse than facing a gun barrel because the response was illogical. There was no way to talk herself through it. Shocked, she stopped again her fingers gripped the wood until they went numb.

"You don't have to do this, lass," Harper said from above her.

"Yes I do," was her reply through gritted teeth. Without thinking, Sandra took a deep breath and allowed her body to fall backward.

Instantly, water rushed into Sandra's nose and ears, sending a bolt of terror through her. Sandra's eyes flew open in the briny water, stinging them.

Then hands caught hold of her and pulled Sandra above the surface of the water. As she sputtered and thrashed around, her eyes came to rest on Mathew and Styles' amused expressions.

"Take it easy, lass," the older of the two stated, keeping hold of her until she could remain above water on her own.

The fear was still there. Sandra kept having visions of a killer shark hurtling toward her dangling legs. Squashing the image, she concentrated on staying reasonably vertical without help.

"Are there sharks in these waters?" Sandra asked. Despite her best efforts, her teeth were chattering, whether from rear or cold, she couldn't tell.

"We haven't seen any, ma'am," Styles replied, amusement sparkling in his pale blue eyes.

"Good."

OOOOO

After being in the water for ten minutes without being eaten, Sandra began to relax a bit, but not much. Harper and Lane hung around in case she had difficulties. Sandra chose to ignore them as she concentrated on getting clean.

"Feel better?" Lane asked once she'd gotten as close to clean as she could.

"Yes," Sandra admitted. The fear was still there, gnawing at her guts. But it was ebbing as time passed and she didn't get eaten. "How about you?"

"Much." Any further conversation was pre-empted by a sound that started out from a distance then quickly came to a stop on the other side of the ship. The two twenty first century citizens stared at each other. The hum and splashing of water could only come from a mechanized vehicle. It reminded them both of a large ship.

The sailors were near to panic. Three of them were all ready scaling the side of the ship to get on deck, while Harper and two others waited their turn.

"You'd better come with us, miss," Mathews said. He and Styles were the only ones who'd retained some sense of sanity. Nodding her head, Sandra, closely followed by the two sailors and Lane, swam over to the hand rails.

Patrick moved out of the way so she could reach the ladder. As quickly as her wet hands and feet would let her, Sandra climbed. The noise had changed in pitch and timber like a car shifting from accelerating to neutral.

At the top, Sandra found the other men standing transfixed. She was forced to climb around them to reach the comforting planks of the deck.

Water running from her clothes, body and hair, Sandra too stood immobile at the scene before her.

Floating beside the ship, virtually dwarfing the Indefatigueable was a metal naval vessel. Sandra had seen battle ships like it on any number of shows and movies, as had Lane and Daniel, but to the seamen and riflemen it was something out of a nightmare. Sunlight gleaned off its metal surface and as they watched, a hatched opened on the side and people climbed onto its deck.

_A/N: Hello. Yes, I'm dragging more people into in an attempt to figure out a way to end this story. I'm now writing it as I go, not transcribing it from a prewritten story. I hope I don't lose you along the way, I know there's only one or two bothering to review. PLEASE let me know what's going through your mind. I'd love to know!_

_Susanne_


	24. Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

"God save Ireland," Patrick breathed behind Sandra. He felt his legs begin to turn to water. What kind of nightmare had they found now? Forcing his eyes away from the apparition beside their ship, Patrick searched the crowd for his commanding officer. He was relieved to find Sharpe standing on the top deck with Captain Pellew. From the expression on both men's faces, they were just as amazed by what they saw as he was.

"Oh my God," Sandra said, her voice filled with awe and relief. Finally! Something from her own time, she hoped. In the crowd of sailors, she picked out Lane and Daniel. Both men were inching toward the side of the boat closest to the war ship while most of the others were pulling back. With a quick glance at Patrick, she began moving through the unwashed bodies toward the two men.

"Ship on our starboard side, this is H.M.A.S. Hammersley. May we render assistance?" a male voice boomed over the distance separating them. While Sandra knew the man's voice to be amplified, the sailors around her inhaled almost as one and then took three quick steps back, effectively pushing Sandra forward.

Before she reached the rail, Daniel and Lane began shouting and waving their arms. Since they didn't have a loud speaker with which to communicate with, they were using what they had. Moving up beside them, Sandra glanced over at Sharpe on the top deck. The commanding officer of the riflemen was staring, unblinkingly, at the monstrosity. She couldn't tell if he was fascinated, terrified or simply stunned beyond comprehension.

Turning back to the ship, Sandra watched as one man standing on their version of the top deck, pulled out a pair of binoculars and scanned the people on her own ship. It was hard to tell for sure what decade the ship was from. It looked like any number of war movie ships she'd seen on TV. The antennas, towers and other protrusions told her little, until she spotted the small satellite disc.

"Somehow I don't feel like we've been rescued," Daniel spoke as he watched the other crew work to lower an inflated boat, one Sandra would have called a Zodiac, over the side. He and Lane were now leaning on the side because they knew the others had seen them and were intending to come over.

"Wait until we talk to them," Lane advised as he too watched the other crew work. He was amazed to realize that at least one person on the other boat was female. At least Sandra wouldn't be alone any more. "Maybe we are."

"I'm going to go talk to Captain Pellew. He might need an explanation of what's going on," Sandra stated. Pulling her eyes away from the bodies in the overalls across the way, she turned to the top deck and covered the distance as quickly as she could.

Reaching the top of the ladder, she found that Captain Sharpe and Captain Pellew had been joined by Lt. Eckersley. All three men looked a little pale. Pacing across the small area, Sandra stopped beside Sharpe before turning back to face the new ship.

"What is that thing?" Sharpe asked in a quiet voice. He didn't want to bother the Navy men around him but what he was seeing defied logic. How could metal float?

"It's a battle ship, much like the one we're on," Sandra responded. "But it's from my own century. I'm not sure if they're here to rescue us or are just as lost as we are. I suggest we wait for some of them to come aboard before we jump to any conclusions."

Despite the fact that they had spoken in lowered voices, Captain Pellew turned toward them. "I don't like the idea of being boarded by an unknown force," he stated.

"Well, looking at the gun on the top of the deck and the weapons in the sailors' hands, I'm not sure that we really have a choice, Captain," Sandra responded. "I'm not sure that your cannons would do much damage to their metal hull."

"That does not give me a great deal of comfort," Captain Pellew responded.

"I'd take the fact that they haven't opened fire and don't seem to be manning the gun as good signs. Let's wait to see what they have to say," Sandra said.

As if on cue, four men and a woman scrambled over the side of the Indefatigable to stand on the deck. All were dressed very much the same, grey overalls with holsters strapped to one leg, dark blue life jackets on their backs and dark blue baseball caps with HMAS insignia on them. It was hard to tell details, they all looked pretty much the same in the outfits, but one of them, with very short dark hair was obviously larger than the others and then there was the female with the long blonde braid sitting on her left shoulder.

For the briefest moment, the two crews simply stared at each other, unsure what exactly to expect. The sailors of the Indefatigable almost seemed to hold their breath, expecting the five of them to turn into the hairy monsters from before. For their part, the five crew members scanned the people around them.

Stepping forward, Daniel held his hands away from his body. "My name is Doctor Daniel Jackson. You are on board His Majesty's ship Indefatigable. Do you know where we are?"

"Doctor Jackson," the woman said, stepping forward and offering her hand. "I'm Executive Officer Kate McGregor of HMAS Hammersley. As far as knowing where we are, our GPS and satellite com are not currently working."

As much as her commander, Mike Flynn, had wanted to keep the information close to the vest, looking around this vessel, Kate had no qualms. This was not a recreation of an 18th century English naval vessel. It was the real thing. She could tell by the wear of the wood, the smell of the men and the types of sails they were using.

"Shit," Lane swore quietly. He'd really been hoping that these people would be able to save them from this nightmare. Further discussion was interrupted by the arrival of Captain Pellew and Captain Sharpe.

Upon seeing the Navy man's sword hanging from his belt, the larger man stepped forward, to put himself bodily between his XO and the threat. Before he got too far, though, Kate stepped forward, effectively preventing him. She could tell that the man was not a threat.

"Captain Sir Edward Pellew of His Majesty's ship of the line Indefatigable," he introduced himself. "This is Captain Richard Sharpe of His Majesty's 95th Rifles. I do not recognize your vessel."

"I have to admit that I'm not very sure about what's going on here either," Kate said, nodding at the man beside her. "It's okay, Buffer. I don't think they're a threat."

"How long has your electronic equipment been out?" Daniel asked. Lane was standing beside him. The rest of the crew, besides Sharpe and Pellew, were still hanging as far back as they could. As if on cue, Sandra joined the small gathering as well.

Kate glanced over to her own ship before answering. "48 hours. Since then we've been unable to ascertain our location by more traditional means either."

"We've been 'unable to ascertain our location' for weeks now," Sharpe stated. He hadn't understood everything the group had been discussing so far but he'd understood that part.

"Weeks?" the other man parroted, his face carefully neutral. Even still, he was unable to hide the quick glance at his commanding officer.

"Yes, weeks," Sandra said as she stepped forward. She was only slightly surprised by the new crew's Australian accents. So far, she, Daniel and Lane were definitely in the minority. However, she was greatly relieved to see another woman. Suddenly she didn't feel quite so obvious. "I've lost count of how many days I've been here but myself and Captain Sharpe's team seem to be the earliest arrivals."

"Do you have any theories about what's going on here?" Kate asked, turning her attention to the woman. She was only slightly surprised by the woman's attire. Clearly, she'd 'gone native'.

"Unfortunately, no. Not really. We've just been randomly moving from landscape to landscape, trying to survive and move onto the next one. There are large, furred creatures that are either in charge or answering to some other force that we haven't met yet," Sandra said, looking over at Sharpe. "We've lost a lot of friends that we've made along the way."

"What do you mean 'lost'? Have they been killed?" the large man asked. His coveralls had a name tag on them that read 'Tomaszewski'. Sandra didn't even want to begin to try to pronounce that.

"No. At least, not that we know of. A wall of fog appears and they are lost within it. For all we know they're still wandering around in a wall of fog somewhere," Sandra responded. Looking at the other three men still standing along the rail, she read their names off their coveralls, 'Blake, Webb and Holiday'.

"This isn't making any sense," the one called Webb whispered to Holiday. Still on guard, the other man didn't respond.

"You're right about that. So far there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of sense involved," Lane stated.

"Where do we go from here?" Kate asked. She desperately wanted to contact her commanding officer but their radios were out too. They were all a little rusty on using flags as a means of communication.

"Do you have any wounded?" the man named Blake asked. He'd stepped forward upon noticing Sharpe's jury rigged splint.

"Yes, a few. We were attacked by the creatures," Sandra said. "Do you have medical supplies? We could use more than rum and dirty bandages."

OOOOO

Faster than Sandra thought possible she was suddenly transported back to her own century. She, Lane and Daniel had come aboard the Hammersley along with Hornblower, and by extension Kennedy, as well as Sharpe, his men and a few of the other sailors that had been injured during the fight. Even Sandra, Lane and Daniel found themselves staring around their surroundings, trying to figure out what all the dials, switches and other equipment did.

While the GPS, cellular signals, internet, and satellite links were out, the rest of the electronics worked on board the ship. Sandra had to stifle a laugh the first time Harper was exposed to a light bulb. He was both terrified and fascinated at the same time.

Kate took the time to introduce their visitors to her commanding officer, Commander Flynn. The tall, dark haired man didn't seem as stodgy as Captain Pellew, which was a relief. Sandra was also thrilled to know that she didn't have to pretend to be anything other than what she was. The fact that she found another female sailor on board the Hammersley also made her feel better.

"These are strange times," Flynn stated, looking over each of his guests. He could easily see that Midshipman Hornblower was practically passing out on his feet. He could also see that his companion, Midshipman Kennedy, was deeply concerned about him.

"They certainly are," Lane responded. He was practically vibrating with the need to get his wounded below and in better conditions. "Can we get these men some place more comfortable?"

"Certainly, Swain, show them where to go," Flynn said, indicating Blake. Nodding his head, the man turned around and led the way. Just as Sandra was going to follow Patrick, Flynn caught hold of her arm. "Could you please stay? I have a few more questions."

Sandra glanced at the big Irishman. Patrick had stopped and turned around. He would beat the man senseless, commander or not, if Sandra gave him the signal. "Stay with the captain. I'll be fine."

"Aye, lass. I'll be listening, though," Patrick said, throwing a meaningful look at the commander of the ship before heading down the stairs. It set his nerves on edge to go below the water level in this metal contraption but he wasn't leaving his captain without back up.

"Thanks, sir," Sandra said, a smile tugging at her lips when she turned to face Flynn. There was a calming presence emanating from the man. In some sense he reminded her of Sharpe. "I don't really know anything but ask your questions."

"The XO tells me that you have been dealing with this for several days now. What have you discovered during that time?" Flynn asked. They were standing in the control room of the ship. The navigator, the other woman, was pouring over her charts, trying to figure out where they were. The man named Webb was currently steering the ship. Somehow that didn't fill Sandra with confidence. Standing by the stairwell that led to below decks, was Tomaszewski.

Now that they had their hats off, which were clipped to the leg of their overalls, Sandra could see that Webb was a young man. She suddenly felt very old again. He looked to be eighteen or nineteen. He had a baby face with blue eyes and dark hair. Tomaszewski was a larger man with close cut dark hair and brown eyes. There was an intensity about him that reminded her of McQueen. She was nearly overwhelmed by a wave of missing the older invitro. They'd lost so many people.

Blinking the tears out of her eyes, Sandra turned to Flynn and quickly explained everything to the best of her abilities. The entire time, during the several minutes of narration, Flynn was quiet and attentive. Every once in a while Buffer, Tomaszewski, would ask a question for clarification.

"That's quite a tale," Flynn stated, looking around at his officers. "I don't know if I'd believe it if we hadn't been living through this ourselves."

"I find it a little strange to be standing here," Sandra admitted, looking around at the gages, gears, lights and other electrical equipment that was happily humming away to itself. "I feel like I'm dreaming or something."

"Would you like to take a hot shower and get into some other clothes?" Buffer asked suddenly. For a split second Sandra thought he might be indicating that she stank, which was entirely possible. Then, remembering her time in the ocean, she realized he was just being nice. Smiling widely at the thought of being clean, truly clean for the first time in God knew how long, Sandra nodded her head.

"Follow me," Buffer said, heading down the stairs.

"Commander," Sandra said, looking at the captain of the ship before she followed.

OOOOO

"Do you think what she said is the truth, sir?" Spider asked from his position at the helm. He'd had trouble keeping his scepticism at bay. It sounded like the woman had taken a whole slew of drugs and had a really wild dream.

"Yes, I think she is. As much as I was hoping myself that this was a wild dream, I think she's told us everything she knows," Flynn answered, looking at his young sailor. Unconsciously, he ran a hand through his hair. This was getting worse by the minute.

"What are we going to do now, sir?" Spider asked.

"I wish I knew," Flynn responded. He turned to stare out the front windows of the control room. All he saw in front of them was water. For the first time in his long naval career, Mike Flynn hated the water.

_A/N: Hi. No, I haven't forgotten about this or any of my other stories. Real life has gotten complicated again, screwing up my time to write. And my energy. Oh well, I hope someone out there is still reading this, I'm still having fun writing it! I couldn't help myself but to drag in Sea Patrol and its first season characters, which, of course I don't own. I've just borrowed them! I'll put them back when I finished, honest!_

_Where is this going? To quote Mike Flynn, 'I wish I knew', but the trip should be interesting. Please stay with me!_

_Susanne_


	25. Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Clean for the first time in what felt like years. Sandra stared at the image in the steamed up mirror. It was the first time the woman had seen her face since all the madness had begun. She honestly didn't recognize the person staring back at her. The high cheek bones that had been hidden beneath a layer of fat were strange to her. The hard edge to the brown eyes regarding her was also foreign. A sudden knock on the door caused Sandra to tear her eyes away from the mirror.

"Sorry, miss. Commander Flynn asked me to see if you needed anything else." The young voice of Billy Webb, Spider to his crewmates, floated to her as Sandra pulled up the zipper of her borrowed coveralls.

"I'm fine, thank you," Sandra responded, opening the bathroom door. "Do you know where Captain Sharpe and the others are?"

"Yes, ma'am, they're in the mess hall. I can take you there if you'd like," Spider said. He was so young and eager to please. Distractedly, Sandra wondered if she'd ever been that young.

"Lead the way," Sandra said. If felt really strange to be in real clothes again. Even still, Sandra caught hold of her riflemen's' jacket and her weapon before she left the bathroom. Seeing the sceptical expression on Spider's open face Sandra felt she had to explain. "Force of habit."

"I don't think Buffer is going to be too happy with you wandering around with a rifle, especially that one. It looks old enough to blow up in your face the next time you use it," Spider responded. He was still standing in the corridor, showing no sign of moving.

"This rifle has saved my life more times than I care to think about. I'm not going anywhere without it," Sandra responded as she slung the too long Baker rifle over her shoulder.

Doubt played across the young man's face. Clearly torn, Spider began light bounding from one foot to the other while he weighed his options. Just as Sandra was afraid the boy was going to blow a gasket, Spider looked over her right shoulder. The relief that spread across his features was almost comical.

"Is there a problem, Spider?" a deep male voice rumbled behind Sandra. Suppressing a smile, she turned to fine Buffer standing there.

"She wants to keep her gun with her. Is that okay, Buffer?" Spider asked.

Buffer's dark eyes went even darker as he examined the Baker rifle. The barrel was so long it was almost laughable but Buffer could see that it was still a lethal weapon.

"You won't be needing that on board the Hammersley, ma'am," Buffer finally stated as his eyes shifted from the rifle to Sandra.

"You don't know that," Sandra replied, gripping the weapon a little tighter. "There's no warming when the fog or the creatures come. The one thing I've learned through all of this is to always be prepared."

"I'll check with Commander Flynn," was all he could come up with. If the woman's story was true, they'd survived incredible odds. He wasn't sure he wanted to be the one who refused to let them continue to live the same way.

"While you do that, could I please go check on my friends?" Being away from Sharpe and the others was beginning to drive her nuts. At the moment she would seriously consider giving up her rifle just to be with them.

"Take her to the mess, Spider. I'll know where to find her," Buffer said. Then he was walking back down the hall.

OOOOO

After following young Spider through what seemed like a labyrinth of hallways, Sandra was so relieved to see Sharpe and his men when she walked into the mess. She'd retained her rifle, with Commander Flynn's blessings, and her green jacket but the inside of the boat was too hot to wear it. Besides, she desperately needed to wash it first.

"How are you, captain?" Sandra asked, a broad smile spreading across her face. The riflemen were staring at her in her Australian Navy coveralls. Their scrutiny almost made her uncomfortable.

"I'm fine, lass," Sharpe responded after a heart beat. Seeing the woman in those clothes, looking so comfortable in these very strange surroundings, had reminded the captain that Sandra really wasn't one of them. The rifle and rifleman's jacket with its chosen man's patch was a comfort though. Clearly, she wasn't quite ready to abandon them yet.

"Have they had a chance to examine you yet?" Sandra asked. The silence was making her uncomfortable.

"No," Harris responded, shaking himself out of his stupor. "They are with Mr. Hornblower further down the hall at the moment."

As truly thankful as Sandra was to be in marginally familiar surroundings, she recognized immediately just how out of place the men of the 95th appeared sitting around a banquet table with Sharpe at one end and the too big Harper on the other.

"Where are Lane and Daniel?" Sandra couldn't stop herself from rambling. Chances were good that both men were taking showers as well. Now that she was clean, Sandra was painfully aware of just how badly her friends also needed to get clean. She doubted, however, that any of them would be willing to don the coveralls or that the ship would have extra for all of them anyway.

"I'm not sure," Harris admitted. He'd lost track of the men as they were led through this bizarre machine. The sounds it made, the feel of it, the light that shone steadily and the strange smells had overwhelmed him. He couldn't find his way back up to the top deck if his life had depended on it.

"Well, I suppose they can't get too far," Sandra stated. Propping her rifle against the bulkhead and hanging her jacket on it, she smiled at the riflemen and slipped back out into the corridor. She was only mildly surprised to find Billy Web waiting for her.

"Hi," Sandra said feeling a little awkward. She was feeling like she had one foot in Sharpe's world and the other in her own. It left her a little off kilter. "I'd like to go check on Mr. Hornblower."

"Who?" the young man asked looking mildly confused.

"The man in the short white pants," Sandra stated.

"Oh, him. Sure, follow me."

OOOOO

Down the too clean corridor and around a couple of corners, Sandra found the two British seamen in yet another mess hall. Horatio was lying on a hard table, stripped down to his waist. Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Midshipman Kennedy was sitting in the far corner of the room, trying to stay out of the way. Horatio's eyes were closed and he looked pale under the harsh fluorescent light.

"How's he doing?" Sandra asked quietly. One of the Hammersley's seamen was tending to Horatio. A stethoscope was draped around his neck and he'd started a saline IV in Horatio's left arm. A bright decal stuck on the bag of fluids indicated that he'd added an antibiotic to it.

"He'll be fine, miss," the man stated looking up at Sandra and smiling brightly.

"The other one I'm not so sure about," he added, still grinning.

A closer look at Archie and Sandra realized that the blonde young man did look decidedly unwell. Crossing the distance between them, Sandra knelt down in front of him and carefully placed her hands on his trembling knees.

"Archie?" Sandra asked, looking up into the boy's face. For a split second the expression on Archie's face when she'd caught Simpson with him played through her mind. "Archie?"

Forcing his bright blue eyes up until he was looking directly into Sandra's brown ones, for a moment Archie looked so completely lost, before he got a hold of himself. "Hello, Miss Sandra," he said quietly.

"Hello, Archie. How are you doing?" Sandra pressed gently.

"I'm worried about Horatio," was the first response she got.

"Mr. Blake here is taking very good care of him. He says Horatio will be just fine. Would you like to come out with me to get some air?" it was the first thing that had come to Sandra's mind. She hoped it would actually prove helpful. Glancing over at the Australian medic, Sandra got an approving nod. Apparently Blake thought it was a good idea too.

"I don't want to leave Horatio," Archie responded, almost in a daze.

"Mr. Blake will take very good care of him while we're gone, Archie. Right now I think we could both use some air," Sandra pressed. Catching hold of Archie's hands, she pulled him to his feet and began guiding him out of the room. Her only hope was that Billy was still there to lead the way.

OOOOO

"Feeling better?"

Sandra, Billy and Archie were leaning against the rail on the top deck of the Hammersely, enjoying a cool sea breeze. Billy had deliberately chosen the side of the boat upwind and way from the old wooden ship floated beside him. The thing kind of gave him the creeps.

"Much," Archie responded. Now that they were outside, the young midshipman really did look more like himself. He still had a bit of a green tinge to his young face though.

"This is a lot to take in," Sandra stated as she leaned against the railing and felt the wind ruffle her hair. As unsettling as the events that had brought her here were, she couldn't think of anywhere else she'd rather be at the moment.

"How many times have you been through this, ma'am?" Billy asked. The rumours were all ready flying through the boat about what she'd told Commander Flynn. Spider wanted to hear it for himself.

"Ahhh," Sandra replied trying to run through the transitions in her mind. After a minute though, she gave up. They were all starting to run together. All she could really remember were the faces of the people they'd lost along the way. "Too many times."

"Spider, don't pester the woman," a voice stated from Billy's side of the railing. Looking beyond the young man, Sandra saw Buffer staring out at the ocean too.

"It's okay," Sandra responded, not wanting to get the kid in trouble. "We just needed some air."

"If what you say about those creatures is true, ma'am, being outside is probably not the best idea," Buffer said. He hated to admit it but it did feel good to be out in the clean sea air. Standing by the railing he could almost forget about the madness this woman had described.

"Probably," Sandra replied. "But it sure feels good."

"How are your companions doing?" Buffer asked, trying to change the subject. He loved the sea but couldn't seem to keep from staring out at the horizon warily. Wherever they were, the planet was smaller the event horizon was closer than he'd ever seen before. It was very disconcerting.

"Your medic, Mr. Blake, hasn't had a chance to look at the riflemen yet, he's been occupied with Mr. Hornblower," Sandra stated.

"Call him Swain, we all do," Buffer said. "Please, I really must insist that we go below now."

_Hello. Anyone out there? I know Chechmade is still waiting for this story to continue. Your continued support means so much to me! Thanks for trying to keep me honest. I haven't forgotten about this story or the other three I am writing. Real life has other plans for my time. I'm updating as I can but I admit to being embarrassed by how short this update is. It was all that would come out in over two weeks of trying. I'll get better though. I plan to write on my lunch hours! I get bored after half an hour or so anyway._

_Please accept my apology. It won't be over two months until I update again._

_Susanne_


	26. Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

As the group of four turned to head off the deck the world disappeared. With a gasp Sandra realized first what had happened. The fog was back.

"Shit!" Sandra swore. Automatically she reached out and grabbed hold of both Archie and Spider. She didn't want to take a chance of losing either one of them. "Where's Buffer?"

"Right here, miss," the man's voice floated through the wall of white. Under her hand Sandra could feel Archie begin to shake slightly. He hadn't really had to deal with the fog before and was becoming very unnerved in his all ready distressed state.

"This is the fog I told your boss about. Can you lead us below?" Sandra asked, her grip tightening on the two young men. She wasn't going to lose them and she wasn't going to let herself get lost either. The last thing Sandra wanted was to be here alone.

"No problem, miss," Buffer's voice floated to her again. Just as she felt the man's hand come out of the fog to touch the front of her shirt, a low growl was emitted somewhere above and to the right of her.

"Oh, no," Sandra breathed. Looking around and seeing nothing but a white wall, Sandra knew they were in big trouble. "Get inside now!"

With both hands she pulled the two young men in front of her and pushed them toward Buffer's out stretched hand that she could just make out in front of her. The three men fell in a jumble. They had been completely unprepared for the action. That left Sandra as the only one standing on deck and the perfect target.

The growl above her turned into a loud roar and then she felt a huge, hairy mass slamming into her. Sandra had been still close enough to the railing that she and the creature were thrown over it to fall bonelessly toward the water below. The whole process to a fraction of a second, too short a time for Sandra to react in any way.

Then they hit the water. It was like slamming into a cement floor with a 500 lb weight on top of her. Sandra had enough time to gasp a breath then she was under the water, the creature bearing her down into the wet depths.

Panic overtook Sandra. All of her phobias of drowning raced to the surface of her mind. Her instinctual response was a quick intake of breath but the weight of the water and fur against her nose and mouth kept her from doing it.

The creature was trying to slash at her sides and back, its massive arms hampered by the water around them. Sandra knew every second that she allowed her mind to be paralyzed with fear was another foot or so she was under water. Bringing up her hands, she pushed her body away from the creature's mass. It meant that she was going deeper into the water but she had to extract her body from it first. The creature weighed more than her and had less body fat so it was virtually plummeting to the ocean floor. The problem was that it was taking her with it because she was underneath it.

It took some doing and a few lucky breaks but Sandra managed to pull her body away from the creature and start pushing up toward the surface of the water. The creature had stopped trying to maul her as its oxygen had run out. Even in the darkness of the depths they were in Sandra could see the air bubbles of its last breath heading upward.

Her lungs starving for oxygen, Sandra kicked as hard as she could. She knew which direction to head into because of the bubbles but the surface seemed to be so far away. Her heart pounding in her ears, her vision turning red, Sandra kicked two more times. She still couldn't see a reflection of the surface of the water. She was alone, drowning, with no strength left. The red haze over her eyes turned black as she lost consciousness. Her mind no longer forcing her lungs to stop working, Sandra drew in a great breath of water. Suddenly completely still, her body began to float downward, following the same path as the creature.

OOOOO

She was drowning. The world around her was full of water and darkness. Her lungs were burning for air but she didn't dare to draw any in, knowing that all she would get would be water. Struggling against the urge to breathe as long as she could, Sandra finally forced her eyes open, fully expecting the darkness that had surrounded her before.

The sunlight flooding over her face startled her. Taking a deep breath, Sandra realized that she wasn't in the ocean, dying alone. Shocked, she sat up straight, staring around her, trying desperately to figure out where the hell she was this time.

Familiar blue painted walls surrounded her. Sandra was sitting on a very familiar bed surrounded by all of her things. She was home. 'What the fuck?' Sandra thought, looking down at herself. She was fat again. All the weight she'd lost while marching with Captain Sharpe and his men was back. Despair threatened. Where was Captain Sharpe, Harper and the others? Why was she back here?

Climbing off her bed, Sandra moved over to her door and stepped out into the hallway leading to the living room of her house. Somehow it didn't surprise her to find both of her parents sitting in their usual chairs watching 'The Price is Right' on the flat screen TV in the corner of the room. Looking up at her, her mother smiled. "Good morning," she said.

"Morning," Sandra responded. In all the time she'd been with Richard Sharpe she'd imagined what her home coming would be like. This was a definite let down. Clearly her mother wasn't the least concerned about her several months disappearance. That didn't make sense. Mind you, none of this made sense. Sandra stood in the hallway, staring at her parents in dismay.

"Are you all right?" Sandra's mom asked concerned by the paleness of her daughter's face. Something was wrong.

"Ahh. Yeah. I think. When was the last time you saw me?" Sandra asked. It was the only question she could think of. She knew she couldn't start asking about Sharpe, the others, the creatures, drowning. None of it would make any sense to anyone who hadn't experienced all of it.

"Last night, before we went to bed. Why?" Sandra's mom answered.

It was all so surreal. On the television contestants were 'Coming on down' while Sandra felt her world moving miles out of order under her feet. Tears sprang to her eyes. It was so good to see her mom and dad. At the same time she all ready missed Sharpe. Given a choice, she knew in her heart that she would have stayed there with him and the others. Now, that world made more sense. The stupidity of spending her life working to make money, staring at a box to be entertained, living for that next text was almost beyond her ability to comprehend. Not after spending so much time just trying to stay alive.

"Oh, nothing," Sandra responded. Quickly, she turned around and headed back to her bedroom. Throwing her oversized body onto the bed, she tried to be quiet as she wept bitterly. Not even the presence of her cat could console her.

OOOOO

"Where did she go?" Spider cried as he struggled to get back to his feet. The fog hampered his efforts because he couldn't tell what or who he was trying to stand up on.

"One of the creatures," Archie managed as he extracted his body from the pile. He'd recognized the sound as well and had known immediately how much danger they had been in. The fact that Sandra was gone and so was the creature somehow made sense. Of course she would have made sure they were safe before worrying about her own safety.

"What are you talking about?" Buffer pushed. The fog was unlike any he'd ever dealt with before. He was a sailor. Fog was part of the life but this was completely unnatural in its ability to appear instantaneously and be so impenetrable. The fact that the woman had disappeared amid a rush of noise had his hackles up. That too was completely unnatural. Blinking through the mist, he tried to find the railing only to realize he couldn't see it.

"One of the creatures that attacked us before must have gotten her. We need to find Captain Sharpe. He'll want to know," Archie said. He was feeling the effects of shock. He didn't know what to do or what to think. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt though that Sandra was gone. The fact that the creature hadn't attacked anyone else meant to him that they had both gone over the rail. Belaying his words, Archie stepped forward until he found the metal rail on the side of the ship. Looking down into the mist he couldn't see or hear anything. Sadness enveloped him. She really was gone.

Buffer had to make sure too. He found Archie at the railing and used it to run the entire length of the ship. All he found when he returned to the silent Midshipman was more mist. There was no sign or sound of the woman and the 'creature' that Archie was so insistent on.

"We'd better get below, tell the CO what happened," Buffer said as he caught hold of Archie on his way by. The mist wasn't letting up and it continued to muffle all sounds but Buffer was still fairly sure about one thing. They were alone on the ocean. The Indefatigueable was gone.

"Yes, sir," Spider responded as he also caught hold of the blond officer and helped to direct him to the hatch and below decks. The kid was obviously in a severe state of shock. He hadn't spoken while Buffer had surveyed the deck and had begun to tremble.

"Take him to Swain. I'll go tell the CO," Buffer stated once he shut the hatch, blocking out the fog. He felt immensely better back inside the world of electrical lights and confining walls. It just made more sense.

"Come on," Spider said as he led Archie to the right, toward the mess where he'd last seen Swain. He knew that someone should tell the soldiers of the woman's disappearance but he didn't want to be the one to do it. Those people made him a little nervous, more so than he was willing to admit.

Archie was eerily silent as Spider led him through the halls to the mess hall. Spider just hoped that Swain was still there. He didn't want to have to explain the blond man's condition in front of Sharpe.

"It'll be okay, mate," Spider said quietly. He could easily see just how pale the young officer was and how glassy his eyes appeared. Clearly Archie was in shock. Spider wasn't so sure that he wasn't too. It had all happened so fast! One second they were admiring the view then it was gone. Then Sandra was gone and he swore he could hear something growling and the sound of something or someone hitting the water. After that there was nothing. No calls for help. No splashing of someone trying to swim. Just silence and the fog.

Finally they reached the mess to find that Swain was indeed still inside. He was just finishing up with Horatio, having done all he could for him and was bundling up his supplies to move onto the riflemen. One look at Spider and Archie though and the medic stopped in his tracks. "What happened?" he asked. There had been no announcements. If Flynn was aware of any kind of an emergency he would have called for Swain and for the other officers to attend him on the top deck.

"We were on top, looking at the ocean. Then wham, fog. So thick I can't see my hand in front of my face and so fast it appeared during the blink of an eye. We decided to come below decks but before we could something attacked Miss Sandra. She's gone. We think it took her over the railing," Spider said, his voice a little too high and a little too fast. He had to get it out before he thought about it too much. The whole thing sounded nuts, even to him.

Swain moved to the all ship radio, intent on informing the commander that they needed to stop the ship and begin a search. Before he could, Spider placed his hand on top of his, stopping the motion. "She didn't yell for help. She just disappeared. I don't think we're going to find anything," Spider said, sending a side-long glance at Archie. The blond officer had taken a chair beside his shipmate's bed. He was staring off into space while one hand rested on the covers.

"We have to try, Spider. You know that," Swain insisted, trying to pull his hand away.

"Buffer was with us, Swain. He's gone up to inform the CO. He all ready knows," Spider said. "Right now I think he could use your help more."

Heaving a sigh of frustration, Swain moved away from the PA system and turned his attention to Archie. Spider was right. The blond midshipman needed his help.

OOOOO

"Full Stop!" Flynn demanded as he listened to Buffer's tale. Why the man hadn't told him sooner was beyond him but all he knew now was that they had a person overboard. "Nav, get them going."

That was all Nav needed. The petite, brown haired woman was on the PA, getting men to begin unloading the boats while ET and Roe were sent to change into their wet suits.

"I don't think we'll find her, sir," Buffer stated. He hated to admit defeat without even trying but between the fog and the complete lack of sound after the woman had hit the water told him that she had drown upon impact. It was a long way up from the deck of the Hammersley; it would have been like falling twenty feet and hitting a sidewalk. Not many people would survive that.

"Maybe not but we have to try," Mike growled.

"What about the fog, sir?" Buffer pressed. The mist was thick through the front window of the deck. It didn't seem to move at all. "We could lose the men in the boat as well."

"We've worked in fog before Buff," Mike said, turning his attention to his Master at Arms. Something else was going on here. Buffer was never one to shirk his duties. He was certainly the bravest man among them. The trepidation he was demonstrating at going after the woman was completely out of character.

"Not like this, sir," Buffer responded. He had a really bad feeling about all of this. It was just too weird, too hard to make contingencies for. "And sir, the other ship is gone."

"What?" Mike said, turning back to the other man. He'd been trying to watch with binoculars as his men prepared to lower the smaller boat over the side. This was a rescue mission. That was something his people were perfectly capable of performing, even in their sleep. It was what they trained for.

"The other ship, the Indefatigueable, isn't off our port bow anymore," Buffer stated quietly. "I couldn't see it, hear it or smell it as I was checking the deck for Miss Sandra."

"Could they have fallen behind?" Mike asked. There wasn't much of a breeze now that the fog had fallen. Depending solely on sails, the other ship would be dead in the water.

"Maybe," Buffer stated even while he didn't believe it.

"Nav, do you have them on radar?" Mike asked.

"No, sir. They're a wooden hulled boat, it didn't show up on radar when we were right beside them," Nav responded.

"Damn it," Mike swore. Well, they'd stopped their forward momentum. Hopefully the older ship wouldn't get left too far behind. "How are we doing with starting the search for the woman?"

"The launch is off the side and ET and RO are starting the search now," Nav responded. She'd been in constant radio contact with the rescue team.

"Good. Keep me posted," Mike said. He hated to leave the bridge while under the fog but he didn't want to send any of his men to break the news to Sharpe. It should come from the commanding officer of the boat. "I'm going below. I've got to break the news to Captain Sharpe. Nav, you have the bridge."

"Aye, aye, sir," Nav intoned automatically.

OOOOO

"What do you mean 'she's missing'?" Sharpe demanded. Swain had come into the room and begun checking his men over without making any mention that Sandra had disappeared while on the deck of this metal ship. Instantly, Sharpe rushed to his feet and headed for the door, despite Swain's current attempt to take his blood pressure.

Holding up his hand to keep the man inside the mess, Mike put himself between Sharpe and the door. The last thing he needed was another civilian running around on deck. "We are in the water looking for her. Buffer said that he heard someone or something go over the side. He's checked the deck but she isn't there. We can only assume that it was her.

"My men are well trained for this type of mission. Let them do their jobs while Swain finishes his examinations, okay?" Mike said. He could tell the man wanted to bowl over him and was barely containing the urge.

"She's one of my men," Sharpe grated. Swain was trying to force him back down onto the seat behind the table. Behind him Harper and the others were also trying to get out. All of them wanted to find Sandra and deal with any creatures that might be about. From what little information the CO was able to provide them Sharpe figured that was what happened.

"I'm well aware of that, captain. However, this is my boat. The crew take orders from me. Please, stay here while we conduct our search. I will keep you abreast of any developments," Flynn said. Nodding at Swain to continue, he left the mess.

"We have to go look for her, sir," Harris insisted as he continued to try to vault over Harper on his way to the door.

"Harris," Sharpe said, stopping the man in his tracks. "He's right. We have to let him do it. We have no idea how this thing works."

"But sir, it's Sandra," Harris pressed.

"I know. Sit down," Sharpe ordered. They were out of their depth. If they tried to help all they would do was get in the way. Vibrating to the core of his being, Sharpe sat still as a statue while Swain finished his examination.

"Who did this?" Swain asked, indicating the newly scarred wounds on Sharpe's arm and shoulder.

"Frogs," Sharpe answered. He wasn't feeling very charitable at the moment.

"No," Swain chuckled. "I mean who fixed you up?"

"That would be Miss Sandra," Harper stated with pride. He had an ache in his chest that seemed to go on forever. How could the woman be missing? She'd just been there.

"Well, she did good work. Given enough time there shouldn't be too much scaring," Swain stated. He'd seen a road map of suffering on this man's body. He couldn't imagine the hell that he and his men had managed to survive. For an instant Chris Blake's mind turned to his family. Where were they? Was his wife and child all right? Squashing the thoughts, he concentrated on checking the rest of the men sitting silently around the table.

Time passed. Swain didn't bother to do things quickly. At the moment they had all the time in the world or no time at all. Either way, he saw no point in hurrying.

The men around him stank. Clearly personal hygiene was not high on their list of priorities. They were hard. Harder even than Buffer, if that was possible. Until Chris met these men he'd thought the big man was the epitome of strength with an edge that made most people nervous. Compared to this group he was a pussy cat. For a split second Swain felt a wave of unease pass over him. They could kill him in a split second if they decided to. The thought passed though. If that was their intention, they would have done it before.

"Are they going to find her?" Sharpe asked quietly. He was sitting on the edge of the bench, one elbow on the top of the bench and the other on the table top.

"I'm not sure. They will do everything they can, though," Swain answered.

OOOOO

"There' s no way, sir," ET said as he climbed back up onto the deck of the Hammersley. He'd gotten into the boat and realized instantly that the visibility was zero. He'd hoped that lower to the water the fog would let up again. All he and RO would manage to do was to get lost. As much as he hated to admit defeat, there was no way in hell they could look until the fog lifted.

"It's that bad?" Flynn asked. He'd come up from telling Sharpe to check on his men. Standing at the threshold of the hatch he understood immediately what his seaman was telling him. Until the fog lifted there was more chance of him losing his people than there was of them finding the missing woman.

"As soon as we untie from the boat we'll be lost," ET stated.

"All right," Mike said as he moved out of the way for the rest of his men to pass by him. ET and the CO were the only ones left on deck. Charge had all ready brought the RHIB back on board. Turning to enter the hatch, Mike was brought up short. Something big was growling out of the fog. It sounded very big and very close.

Knowing he was the last person on deck, Mike pulled the hatch shut, cutting off the sound. Locking the hatch from the inside, Flynn turned toward the bridge. Something was going on. Well, more than usual.

Quickly Flynn reached the nearest radio. "Now hear this, this is your captain speaking. Secure all stations. Prepare for boarders!"

There was a breathless moment while all hands on board the boat took in and processed the orders. Then controlled chaos erupted as each crew member headed to their assigned position.

In the mess hall Swain made a quick judgement call. "All right, we're going to head down to the other mess," he said. These men were mobile enough to be able to take care of themselves and Archie and Horatio. It would also limit the number of civilians wandering around. Always a good thing when there were possible boarders on board.

"What's going on?" Sharpe asked as he allowed himself and his men to be ushered out of the room. There was still a certain tension in his body with Sandra still missing. Now there was something else going on that he didn't entirely understand.

"Someone's attacking the boat," Swain responded. It sounded preposterous even to his ears. Who the hell would have the guts to attack them?

"They're back," Harris stated. Suddenly, there was came a loud, thunderous pounding sound reverberating through the boat's hull from somewhere above them.

_A/N: This update is too long overdue. I'm very sorry. I'm working on finishing all of my stories before I move onto the next one. Thank you for your patience._

_Susanne_


	27. Chapter 27

_Hello! I'd be amazed that anyone was still out there waiting for this story. The ending has been a very long time coming. I'm terribly sorry about that. My muse has been on permanent hiatus. Most irritating. Well, it finally graced me with its presence yesterday during a road trip. It took longer than I wanted to get it into writing but I've finally finished it. The ending, while not being great, was as good as I could manage. I hope you enjoy it. _

_Thank you ever so much for sticking with me. _

_Susanne_

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

On the bridge of the boat, Mike Flynn watched the monitors, trying to figure out what was outside on the deck. It didn't make any sense. But then, none of it had since they'd appeared in this damn place. "What are you seeing, Roe?" Mike asked. Before the young man beside and behind him had a chance to answer there was a loud popping sound.

What followed left Commander Mike Flynn gasping like a fish out of water. All of a sudden, there didn't appear to be any air left. Fear, followed shortly by an intense wave of panic, flowed through his mind as his body screamed for oxygen. Looking around at his crew, unable to draw enough air to speak, he found that all of them were having similar difficulties.

Behind him, he heard Roe, followed shortly by Nav hitting the ground, having slid out of their chairs. Over by the hatch, Buffer was managing to stay awake longer but he too was developing a definite blue tinge. What the hell? Mike thought as his body began to shut down.

Nerveless, he slid to the floor, joining the rest of his crew. Over the intercom he could hear a few strangled sounds but otherwise silence. Mike's vision turned from red tinged to dark spots as his oxygen starved body struggled to keep him alive. Then the world faded away.

OOOOO

The small group made their way through the suddenly very congested hallway. It was making Sharpe's skin crawl anew to realize just how much metal surrounded him and just how much water was below him. Glancing at Harper, who was keeping pace with him despite the narrow corridor, he saw that his friend was having similar difficulties. Then there was a loud popping. Ahead of them Swain came up short as the sound registered.

All around them, the other crew members had stopped moving as well as they looked around them anxiously. A few yards ahead of them, Sharpe saw the man he thought was named Charge be the first to move as fear for his boat registered. Something was wrong, very wrong.

As the man headed for a hatch, Sharpe became aware that while he was breathing, it felt like he was losing breath instead of gaining it. Swain turned towards them, his face alarmed as the lack of air registered. He tried to speak to his charges, to let them know what was going on but his body betrayed him. Instead of speaking, the navy man slowly slid to the ground. Before the others even had a chance to react, they too were crumbling to the ground.

With his last bit of strength, Harper caught his captain as he too began to crumple to the floor. As gently as his air starved would allow him, he helped Sharpe's unconscious form to meet the ground without causing any more injury to the man. That was the last thing Patrick would allow to happen. Then, he joined his friend and captain on the cold metal floor. All around him, were other collapsed bodies. Fear spiked through him as he gasped his last, useless breath. It was replaced with darkness.

OOOOO

The first thing Daniel became aware of was a pounding headache. The first thought that crept across his mind when he was able to form thoughts around the pain was 'what the hell?'. Finally, the first sound Daniel heard was an abrading ringing sound.

Groaning, Daniel rolled on his side, trying to pry his protesting eye lids open. The world shifted under him as familiar things registered through the slowly focusing fog. He was home, in his apartment. Then, the realization that the ringing that was still persisting, hit him it was his cell phone. Groaning again, he reached for the vibrating contraption on his night table beside his bed. Opening it, he managed to pull it to his ear.

"Where the hell are you?" Captain Jack O'Neill demanded before he even had a chance to say 'hello'.

"What?" Daniel asked his mind still not quite processing things properly. It was very disconcerting to have his own thoughts echoed by his boss's angry voice.

"Did you sleep in?" Jack demanded. "Are you sick?"

"Ah...Jack?" Daniel asked. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Finally his eyes were functioning properly so he panned them around the room. It took a moment for him to realize that the images were still blurry. Groaning for a third time, he pulled his glasses off of the night stand and struggled to put them on.

"Daniel? Did I dial a wrong number?" Jack's voice held doubt for the first time and just maybe a little concern.

"Ah...no. I'm here. I think," Daniel responded as everything came into focus completely. He really was home. Son of a bitch. Sitting up, ignoring the stabbing pain in his head, Daniel pulled the cell away from his ear long enough to see the date. Son of a bitch. It had all been a dream. Had it really?

"What's going on?" Jack demanded. Daniel could hear other concerned voices behind his boss's but he couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

"I feel...kind of hung over I guess," Daniel responded. It was hard to have this conversation while his mind scrambled to make sense of what he'd just been through. The images of the torture, the death, the pain, the people, and Sandra, floated through his mind. It couldn't have been a nightmare. It was far too real. Ignoring the chattering on the phone, he pulled the blankets off his body and quickly looked for the scars that he'd known were there just a little while ago. The end result of the torture hadn't quite left him. To be honest, he'd expected to live with the marks for the rest of his life. His skin was smooth, as if they'd never existed.

"Daniel!" Jack's voice demanded his attention again. He had the feeling that his boss had been talking to him for a while but he just hadn't heard him.

"What?" Daniel responded, losing his sense of humour. He was stumbling around his apartment, making sure that everything was real. So far it all was. Was this a good thing or a bad thing? Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure. After he was rescued he honestly didn't minded being there. It was interesting. He'd missed his friends but the whole experience had been rather eye opening.

"Open your damned door," Jack grated. It was then Daniel realized the pounding he was hearing wasn't entirely in his head. Swallowing bile, he padded over to his front door, threw off the locks and opened it. Standing outside it, a little red in the face, was Jack O'Neill.

The world shifting under his feet, Daniel barely managed to keep upright. What the hell was going on? He felt Jack's strong hand on his arm, steadying him.

"We're going to SGC. They'll figure out what's going on there," Jack stated. Then Daniel felt larger, stronger hands catching hold of him. Teal'c was steering him toward the hallway.

"Wait," Daniel protested. He was in sweats and a t-shirt. He wanted to get dressed before he was paraded through his apartment building and the SGC. "Let me get dressed."

"Not happening," Jack stated. He wasn't about to waste any more time. Something was going on, something bad. He wanted Daniel in hands that could handle pretty much anything because he had the feeling that that was what this was going to need.

Daniel considered trying to argue but gave up. Teal'c, his arm around him somewhat protectively, was virtually dragging him towards the military issue car that was parked out in front of his apartment building.

Watching the big alien manoeuvred their youngest member into the car, Jack ran a hand through his close cropped hair. "Let's get you home, kid," he muttered to himself.

And for the first time in forever, Daniel felt like he was home. Heaving a sigh of relief, he sank back into the seat cushion while his head continued to pound. Maybe it was all a very vivid nightmare. Closing his eyes, Daniel was suddenly back in the dungeon, the lash falling on his body.

With a startled gasp, Daniel sat bolt upright, staring wildly around him as the world sped by outside the car windows. Yeah, no, it was no nightmare. How the hell was he going to explain all this to the SGC doctors? Settling back into the seat, Daniel stared out the window. Well, he'd have to come up with something. Besides, with all the strange things Team One had been through in their time together, this probably wasn't the strangest. Maybe they'd believe him after all.

OOOOO

Lane woke up with a pounding headache. Starting out of sleep, he searched around him, looking for the others. All he found was his bedroom. He was home. Gulping air, Lane collapsed back onto the bed. What the hell was that all about? Rubbing a hand over his face, Lane tried to figure it out. In the end, he gave up. Glancing at his clock, he realized he was late. They were waiting for him at the hospital. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Lane showered, dressed and headed out. He was going to have to take time to process all that had happened but not right now. Maybe later he'd be more inclined. Chuckling to himself, Lane knew that wasn't going to happen. Not anytime soon, anyway.

OOOOO

Gasping for air, Mike Flynn came awake with a rush. Sitting up like he was shot out of a gun, he barely managed to keep from hitting his head on the roof of his bunk. He blinked rapidly to clear his eyes as he tried to breathe and take in his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was passing out. He'd had the distinct impression that he was dying. The fact that he'd awoken at all came as a great surprise.

Running a hand over his face, Mike braced himself up into a seated position on his bed. He was in his quarters. He was on is ship. There was air to breath. Things were looking up.

Under him, Flynn could feel his ship moving under power. The engines were running. They were in the water. Things were definitely looking up. Looking down, he realized he was in his working clothes. Satisfied that he wasn't going to shock anyone, he climbed to his feet and headed for the hatch. He had to find out what was going on. He should have awoken on the bridge, not in his quarters.

Carefully, he opened the hatch and stuck his head outside. Shock registered in his muddled mind as he found his crew slowly coming out of their quarters looking just as confused. He was grateful to see all the expected faces. Everyone was here. Thank God.

"Are you all right, sir?" Mike's second in command asked. Kate had gotten out of her quarters faster than he had. She was standing just a few feet away, concern evident in her thin features.

"I'll let you know in a few minutes, XO," Mike replied. It felt like such a luxury being able to simply breathe and have oxygen entering his lungs. It was then, after he knew his boat was sound and his crew safe Mike realized just how much his head ached. Had he been drinking? Is that what had caused the crazy dreams that had obviously plagued him? No. He was on board his boat. There were no circumstances under which he would have allowed his senses to be dulled in any form.

"Does any of this make sense to you, sir?" Kate asked. Glancing at the other crew members she was well aware that he and the XO were not the only members who were dazed and obviously confused.

"Any of what, Kate?" Mike asked. He wasn't about to voice what was galloping through his mind. The pounding was quite enough, thank you.

"You don't remember?" Kate asked, shocked out of the customary formality between CO and XO.

"My dreams? Of course, I usually do, don't you?" The two of them were automatically making their way towards the bridge. Neither of them was particularly surprised to see that Buffer and Roe had somehow managed to beat them there. Right behind them came Swain and Nav.

"Those were more than dreams, sir," Buffer interjected. He had no idea how it had all transpired but he had absolutely no doubts that it had all happened. It was far too real to be anything else.

"Be that as it may, Buffer, They will not enter any reports. I don't think any of us would be allowed to remain on board should anyone else in the navy get wind of this," Mike shot back. As much as he wanted to analyse what had happened, the fact that he had died was too fresh, too close. Looking at Kate, he found a lump in his throat that hadn't been there a moment ago. He hadn't been the only one to die. They all had.

"Where are we, Nav?" Mike asked, turning his attention to the navigator. The dark haired woman was still a little shaken but not so much that she wasn't able to determine their location in a few moments.

"Right where we were, sir, when we first disappeared," Nav responded. Her voice was a little softer than usual as shock registered yet again.

Trying to hide his own disquiet, Flynn turned towards the woman. What the hell should they do now? Clearly the crew and himself were too shaken to continue on with their patrol. Although, getting back to work might be the best medicine for all of them. Looking at Kate, he knew the answer.

"Let's continue our patrol, Nav. Resume course," Mike ordered.

"Aye, aye, sir," Nav responded. Turning her attention back to her equipment, she set the course and read it off for Swain, who was at the helm. Quickly entering the numbers, the Hammersley set off again. Flynn took the time to announce over the ship's com that they were returning to their scheduled patrol before settling his body into the captain's chair.

Watching the ocean pass by his boat, Flynn promised himself that he would talk to each and every crew member and tell them to now mention their little adventure once they left the ship. He didn't want to lose any of them to a psych evaluation. Feeling at home for the first time in days, Flynn was peripherally aware of the rest of his bridge crew taking their usual positions and setting about their duties. It was a close to normal as they would get for a while. At the moment that was good enough.

OOOOO

The world came back abruptly. Coming awake, it took everything Archie had to keep from sending his body falling out of the hammock he found himself in. Gripping the sides, Archie laid still, waiting for the thing to stop swaying. After a few minutes he realized it wasn't going to stop. The swaying did nothing to stop the pounding in his head. He was in his bunk, on board the _Indefatigueable _again. Relief flowed through him.

With effort, Archie pulled his eyes off of the dark boards swaying gently above his head. Further relief flowed as he realized that Horatio was in the hammock next to his. They were both back. Just as he was about to celebrate, he found a hated face on swaying three hammocks down. Not only had he and Horatio returned but so had Simpson. Dread spread through his body. Bile rose in his throat as he remembered the things the hated sailor had done to him.

Two hammocks over Cleveland woke with a start. From the way he looked around Archie knew that he too had not expected to be where he was. That was at least comforting. The midshipman glanced at his bunk mates, his eyes barely stopping on Archie's face but they eventually came to land on Simpson's. A grimace crossed the man's face. Clearly he was less than thrilled to see the man too. Then another expression passed over his face, a bit of a smirk appeared as he chuckled quietly.

"Beaten by a woman," Cleveland murmured. Amid the creaking of the ship, Archie almost missed the statement. By God, he hadn't been the only one to have seen it. Hope sprang up. Maybe, thanks to Sandra, Simpson had lost his power over them. At least that would be something positive to have come out of the whole thing.

Suddenly exhausted beyond words, Archie allowed his eyes to close. The gentle swaying of his hammock further lulled him into sleep. Thanking Sandra, Archie quietly passed into sleep.

OOOOO

'What the blood hell?' Sharpe thought as he came awake with a start. Immediately he was aware that the metal coffin he'd been in was gone. Above him was open sky, beneath him was solid earth. A sigh of relief came from the very tips of his toes.

Around him, where Sharpe still lay in his bedroll, he could hear the sounds of camp arising. Turning on his side, he found Harper, similarly swaddled in his own blanket. Just beyond the big man's hip, he spotted Harris, Bean and the others. They were all here. All of them. A great melancholy spread over the captain of the 95th rifle. No, not all of them. Sandra was no longer among them.

A thought occurred to him. Sitting up quickly, Sharpe looked over his sleeping comrades to the place where he'd first seen the woman. Disappointment passed through him. She was not there. The others were all there though. Now that he was higher, he could see the entire company spread around them.

The sergeants were trying to rouse their charges. The other officers were also trying to get their men awake. Apparently they were getting ready to march. In the distance he could see Simmerson on his horse, berating anyone who got close enough.

"We're home, sir, so we are," Harper said from behind him. Sharpe knew the Irishman wouldn't have stayed asleep for long with all the noise starting up around them.

"Portugal is not home, Harper," Sharpe responded. He was back in his world. It was a world that made sense to him. It was a world he could survive in without help from a woman. But God he missed her.

"I know, sir, but it's a close as we're going to get for a while, so it is," Harper stated. The other riflemen were rising, all clearly as confused as himself. Sharpe had the feeling that they were never going to figure out what had happened. While he wasn't sure he was okay with that, he also wasn't sure he had a choice in the matter.

"What do you suppose all of that was about, sir?" Harris asked as he stood up, rolling up his blanket and packing his backpack.

"Harris, I have no idea," Sharpe admitted. He glanced around at his chosen men. Harper too was packing, preparing to leave.

"I don't think it worked, sir," Hagman stated from his place a few yards away. The other riflemen turned to stare at the Cheshire man.

"What do you mean, Hagman?" Sharpe enquired. Several yards away he could see Simmerson making his way towards them. Sharpe had no idea where the obnoxious man was going to send them but he knew intuitively that it wasn't going to be pleasant.

"It was like a plan that didn't go as planned. Once whoever was doing it realized that, they sent us back to where we came," Hagman stated.

The riflemen looked at each other. Slowly a quiet laughter passed among them. "I don't know, Hagman. Maybe that was it," Sharpe said as he too turned to the task of preparing to leave.

Looking at the others, Hagman knew that the others didn't believe him but he was sure of it. Whatever or whoever had taken them to that place had had plans for them. Somehow that hadn't included the woman. Apparently that had been enough to send it all into turmoil. In his long life Hagman had seen a woman throw a great many things into turmoil. Well, at least he knew the truth. Turning back to his pack, the old poacher finished packing it.

"Look at this, sir," Harper stated. The big Irishman had been rummaging around in his pack. He'd thought he'd known everything within its confines. Slowly, he pulled his hand out. Grasped rightly within it was a strip of brown cloth. It was the same strip of cloth that he'd located and sewn to Sandra's rifleman's jacket. It had been real. It had all been real.

Then Simmerson had reached them and growled his orders to them. Looking at the vile man, Sharpe tried to decide if he should listen to him. He'd had a taste of real freedom despite all the terror and pain. He looked off in the distance, while he tried to make his decision. He and his men could just leave, live off the land. They'd done it before. Among the unwashed, brave souls around him, he spied a familiar figure sitting ram rod straight on his horse, overseeing his troops. It was Wellington.

Sighing once again, Sharpe realized there really wasn't a choice. He had sworn his loyalty to the man on the horse. Turning his attention once more to Simmerson, he realized the man was waiting expectantly for a response.

"Aye, sir," Sharpe stated. Nodding to his men, they headed out. At the front of the column, first ones into battle, last ones out. Just the way they liked it.

The end


End file.
